


The House Up the Slope

by azure7539, xphil98197



Category: 00Q - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Magical - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 95,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8054905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphil98197/pseuds/xphil98197
Summary: Investigative journalist James Bond happens on an old house in a rain storm. The young man who lives there has a very interesting story to tell about the house, what it can do, and how he came to own it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a beautiful song, based on the movie "The Myth". It fits our characters very well
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWNF_M2cCy0

This shouldn’t have turned out like this, Bond thought to himself as he shifted gears when his car lost momentum under the downpour as it tried to navigate through the slippery mud that had replaced the previously unpaved route. The man gritted his teeth in annoyance. Not that a little mud could do him any harm, but he should have known, really, about how useless this trip would turn out to be—he didn’t even want to go out here, in the middle of nowhere, the first place. 

There will be a lead, Mallory had said, hands clasped atop of a vanilla folder on his desk that had been left there by the previous editor. In actuality, the entire office hadn’t changed much ever since her death anyway. Mallory had kept it in pretty much the same state—either out of laziness or out of the need for some sort of reminder of her ever seemingly greater-than-life, iron-like presence that had loomed over the newspaper for more longer than any of them had been there.

God knew, and Bond supposed he didn’t give a flying fuck, either. Although he was sure that Mallory’s whiskey had gotten nothing on what the previous editor’s had stored in her ‘treasury’ cabinet, as they used to often jokingly call it. Or, as far as he had been shown anyway.

“Screw your lead,” Bond muttered under his breath for what must have been the hundredth time that day; he had long since lost count.

The woman was pretty, and he certainly appreciated her beauty, but one look, and he could tell right away that she wasn’t the sort that would know of the fishy business her husband got up to on a regularly basis. And the conversation that subsequently followed after he had charmed her into inviting him inside only confirmed this fact. He hadn’t spent forever working on people’s psyches and reading their facial expressions for nothing, after all.

Switching back up to second gear to lighten the feel of the humming engines, Bond cursed some more when the rain only grew heavier by the minute, reducing visibility down to just a mere few metres ahead. It was frustrating more than anything because instead of spending nearly an entire day wandering up the mountains and steering past beaten tracks upon beaten tracks to find a house in which a clearly clueless woman resided, he could have used it in more efficient ways.

Either hunting down another lead, or at least doing further research into the shady method with which this company used to launder their money.

Or maybe just punching that guy at the car rental for dragging the paperwork out for more than one hour because of some bloody issues he had had with Bond’s face.

_ “He just doesn’t look like the type that’ll return the car in one piece,” _ Car Rental had exclaimed to his wife in Spanish because, obviously, he thought it wasn’t a language that someone like Bond—whatever that fucking meant—would understand.

Right.

With that alone, Bond was tempted to leave his car in the mud and trekked back down the mountain on foot in his raincoat, just to be spiteful.

But then again, Bond wasn’t stupid. He was entertaining that idea when it had been a drizzling still, and right then? No. He’d rather finish this investigation, publish the article first, before dying in a landslide because of his ego and sense of irony and sarcasm.

And so, here he was, driving through what could easily be a torrent.

He gripped the steering wheel firmly, enough to stop it from slipping out of his palm under the jostling streams of running water washing over the four tires (and consequently dislodging him off course) but not enough for it to hinder his own manoeuvring of the vehicle.

But the two sides of the road were elevated higher than the road itself, and the level of stagnant water gathering was steadily rising. At this rate, he was pretty sure the car would die in the middle of the road, whether he actually wanted it to or not, and that wouldn’t do.

Out of stubbornness, Bond drove on for a bit longer. Not that there was any other choice for him to choose from at any rate… until the man came across another road, small, branching off from the main one and leading up to a somewhat steep slope.

Eyes trailing the path of the route, Bond squinted, and for a moment there, he swore the silhouette he was seeing belonged to that of a house. .

 

“Oh, what the hell,” he growled after a moment’s contemplation. It wasn’t as if he had gotten anything left to lose—he actually needed to get to higher grounds himself should he want to escape this with his rented car intact.

 

-

 

Just as he was starting to think that maybe it hadn’t been the fuzzy shadow of a house after all, Bond saw it just as the gradually shrinking route was coming to an end: an old, large brick house with one of those Victorian conservatories just visible to the side, overridden with thick vines.

He blinked, then narrowed his eyes. For a moment there, he was unsure if the place was even inhabited by anyone, but after trying to shoot his eyes some more through the thick curtain of water… he could barely make out the glimmer of light shining through windows grimy enough that they could may as well have been left uncleaned for years.

 

An odd sensation curled in the pit of his stomach.

 

Not dread, no. He lived on the edge of danger often enough that he would know what  _ that _ , of all things, would feel like.

 

No… it was a sense of… mystery and curiosity combined with a subtle hint of… thrill as well, something which he hadn’t felt for quite some time already.

 

But, of course, he wasn’t a child, hadn’t been for a  _ long _ time already, and this wasn’t some haunted mansion on a mountain slope.

 

He stifled that ball of emotions soon enough, shifted gear again, and reared the car slowly and carefully closer to said house.

 

-

 

Only running from his car, which wasn’t parked either too near the front of the house or too close to the edge of the woods, already had him dripping wet from head to toe.

 

Well, at least he had gotten a waterproof bag.

 

Somehow, after all the efforts of going up here, Bond now found himself loitering at the door, puddles pooling at his feet. No idea why—maybe it was because of the whispers of mystery caressing through the veins of senses that was rendering his muscles to a relative halt… until, of course, he raised up his hand to press the ancient looking doorbell, rusty from disuse.

 

Bond listened, but couldn’t make out even the faintest of chime through the rampant downpour all around. “Hello?” He called out, uncertain still.

 

"Hello," a man wrapped in a baggy cardigan and wearing spectacles opened the door. "Come in, did you get stuck out in that? Its horrid. Let's go to the kitchen, and I'll make tea," he handed over a dry towel.

 

"I have on a pot of stew, and I was reading in the conservatory when I saw you pull in," he added, motioning James over to the old fashioned fireplace. "I don't know if my clothes will fit you, but I can offer you a robe." He set about slicing up a loaf of bread and buttering it, and setting it in the oven to toast. Then he boiled noodles while he poured their tea, and spooned the thick stew over it.

 

"Tell me about yourself? I'll just rattle on and on if you let me, I'm afraid."

Bond, having been swept away mostly, blinked. He honestly hadn't thought he would be accepted into the house so easily, considering that this was up in the woods and that he was a stranger, who hadn't even introduced himself. 

 

The house was Victorian, as it had seemed from the outside. Old and creaking, there were only certain renovations here and there that he could make out, but it actually wasn't as drafty as he had expected. Bond shivered a little as the warmth of the kitchen engulfed him—he hadn't realized it had been that cold before this. 

 

"Thank you for allowing me in," he said, toweling himself down, just a little apologetic that he was leaving puddles all over the floor wherever he went. "I'm sorry for the trouble." 

 

He offered the young man a smile. It was peculiar, he thought, that such a young person still was staying  _ here _ , in this essentially rundown place in the middle of nowhere like this. Curious, still, but Bond wasn't going to pry. 

 

"I'm Bond," he said, extending a hand. "James Bond. And you are?"

"Oh, sorry! I'm Quentin Swanson, but please, call me Q," he turned and stuck out his hand sheepishly. "Being out here has made me lose my manners, I'm afraid. I only really interact with the workman, and they haven't been out because of the roads."

 

He poured tea and put out cream and sugar, the citrus of the Earl Grey contrasting with the bread toasting and the wood fire.

 

"I inherited the place last year, and I'm still catching up," Q sat down across from him. "I'm rubbish at housekeeping, I'm afraid. The library and conservatory keep distracting me.”

Bond smiled back and gave the thin, bony hand a firm handshake before letting go. "Oh no. I'm intruding anyway, and your inviting me in is already more than I thought I'd get." 

 

His eyes wandered the place before shifting back to its owner. "I see... It's undoubtedly a lot of work." What with the state of the house and all. "But it's a beautiful home." Bond nodded sagely, appreciative of the antique decór. Some dealers would probably kill to get their hands on a lot of the stuff here.

"Just wish I knew where it all came from," Quentin said quietly. "Anyway, can I tempt you with lamb stew and some garlic toast? I know it's not exactly high fare, but I like comfort food on a night like this."

 

"What do you do for work?" He asked, turning back to Bond. "I'm hoping the hand tremors will let me get back to drawing soon, but I've been experimenting with digital media in the meantime. I used to do fill work for comics," he admitted.

"The house? Didn't they tell you of its origin or history when you inherited it?" Bond asked before nodding. "That sounds great actually. I'm not a picky; good food is good food." He smiled, relaxing a little now that the cold seep of rain water finally released its grip from his skin and flesh. He really wasn't so young anymore. 

 

"I'm a freelance journalist. Just working here and there." He shrugged then looked down at Q's hands, noticing the slight shake in the long, spidery fingers. He had thought it was because of the cold. "What happened?" he asked quietly. "If you don't mind my asking, of course."

"I was in a wreck, a cab hit by a bus swerving to avoid a child," Quentin carried the bowls one at a time. "When I woke up, three weeks had passed, and the physiotherapy took another three months. I got a letter from a solicitor saying I'd inherited this place."

"I had nowhere else to go, my room had already been let to someone else and my belongings sold to pay for rent," he sat down across from James. "My parents died while I was in primary school, and a great aunt raised me. She died my first year at university, and I don't know of any other relatives."

"I need to go into the city, but I still tire easily and I'm not coordinated enough to drive, even if I did have a license," he admitted. "So someone from the local village delivers groceries once a week and mail, and I just sort of make due."

Bond listened, standing up to help out, nodding solemnly. "I'm sorry to hear that, Q," he said, meaning every word, and sat down, the plate of toast between them. "I lost parents, too, when I was young. The gamekeeper there was willing to take care of me, but since he wasn't my appointed guardian, they sent me to foster car anyway." And after that Bond just told Kincade not to bother with the process papers. He had his own children to take care of, and getting one more mouth to feed in the family would essentially leave them struggling. Bond had been young, but he hadn't been stupid. He had seen how they were faring back at the time for himself. 

"Well... I'm here to look into a case, and was planning on hiring an inn once I got down from the mountains before the downpour..." Bond began quietly. "If you don't mind, I can... stick around and help you out?" 

"Oh, I'd like that!" His face lit up in a smile. "As long as it isn't you feeling sorry for me, though. I had enough of that to last me, and I find it frustrating, even if I do need help," he said, a bit sourly.

"There's a few bedrooms made up, the workman usually come on Monday and spend the week," he added. "Its an old creaky house, I hope you don't frighten easily. At first I had a few of the village lads up to clear things, and the squeaky floor boards and ghosts scared them off."

"Nope," Bond replied, biting into the noodles and thick stew. He hummed; it was good food, and he told Q as much. "It's for the convenience, actually. We can both help each other out, and I hate pity myself." 

Bond bit on the toast, chewed, and coughed a little. "Ghosts?" he asked, smiling a little. Personally, he didn't believe in ghosts. Or anything supernatural in nature, for that matter. 

"Well they probably won't bother you if you don't believe in them," Q allowed a rare grin. "I hope you don't mind I have a piano, I play at night when I can't sleep. I'll put you in the furthest room though."

Bond was smiling back, amused. "You're talking as though you believe yourself they're actually real." He raised an eyebrow. "And don't worry. I don't mind."

"I've always had an active imagination," Q adjusted his spectacles. "The doctor says the playing is good exercise for my hands, and I've developed synesthesia, I can see the music in the air as I play. It's a comfort to see some visual beauty, since I can't draw well anymore."

"People don't usually imagine ghosts around them though," Bond found himself teasing a little. But he listened and nodded, wondering what exactly did synesthesia feel like. He had heard about it, of course, but knowing what it was instead of actually experiencing such a thing were two ends of a spectrum. "I'm sure it'll improve, your tremors, with more physical therapy. Give yourself some time."

"Apparently they're somewhat impressed I have come this far," Q said. "Ah well, I have a whole house worth of remodeling to work on it I suppose. More tea?"

"I can get it myself," Bond said, pouring himself some. "And don't mind what they say and focus on your own healing first. They said I might not regain good use of my right arm again, too, but well..." He clenched and released his right fist. "It's almost normal now."

"What happened to your arm?" Q frowned. "That scaring looks bad, if it isn't rude of me to say."

Bond shrugged. "Just some injuries back in the old days. I used to be in the military."

"Ah, you're one of those brave types then," Q smiled. "I'm afraid to fly, and I was a horrible magnet for bullies back in school, glasses and thick books. I'm not much of a fighter."

Bond shook his head and chuckled. "I won't call myself brave. More like reckless with a penchant for breaking things." He trailed, looking at Q. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I learned to adapt, and it got better once I went to university," Q smiled. "I do still have a book problem though. So what drew you to being a reporter after the military?"

After Bond had hit the kid who kept on picking on him, the bullying stopped, but then again, not everything could be solved with violence anyway. "For the thrill of it, I suppose. And the sort of logical assessments it needs to connect the dots." Bond shrugged. "What drew you to comic drawing?"

"I wasn't good at sports really," Q shrugged. "And when I was younger, piano was more of a chore. Doesn't every kid want to grow up to be a superhero?"

Bond smiled and shrugged himself. "I'm not sure about that, actually. What are your comics usually about?"

"Well, the ones I draw, or the ones for my job?" Q laughed. "They just pay me to shade or add color. When I draw my own... Well, I did a spy series once. I've done adaptations of Greek epics, depends on my mood."

Bond nodded. "That sounds nice," he smiled. "I can't draw to save my life, to be honest." 

"Well I can't fight, so we're even. How about a middle ground, music, dancing, cooking, languages?" Q started to relax and enjoy the conversation.

Bond hummed and nodded. "Yes. Music, dancing, cooking, and languages, it is." He sipped his tea. "What sort of dance do you enjoy?"

"I learned how to salsa one year, the year  I came out at Uni, I mean, I'm gay, if you didn't figure- I'm not trying to hit on you, just letting you know..." Q blushed red to the tips of his ears.

Bond laughed, it was a good-natured, hearty laugh. "Don't worry, I know you're only informing me of the fact. But salsa is a wonderful dance. I can show you how to tango, too, if you feel up to it."

"Oh! I'd like that," Q smiled shyly. "Marble floors aren't much good with no dance partner. I'll do the dishes, if you want a hot bath?" He offered.

Bond stood up and gathered the dishes. "I'll help you out. The fire soothed most of the chills away already." 

"If you're sure," Q said, pouring more water into the teapot. "I'm not sure what you want to help with while you're here, however much free time you have is fine. I don't expect you to work. But if you could help me get the stairs cleared, I'm always afraid I'm going to trip on some of the construction supplies they left lying around."

Bond shrugged, setting the dishes into the sink and taking off his jacket, before rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. "It's no trouble. Just leave it to me; I'll help around as much as I can." Bond turned to look at Q. "How much should I give you back for letting me stay?" 

"Give me back?" Q looked at him. "Like money? Oh, I don't even pay to stay here, and there's a fund for repairing the house. Consider yourself a guest," he smiled.

Bond hummed, making quick work of the few dishes. "I'm honoured then, Q." He wiped his hands with a nearby cloth and came back to stand in front of the fire, not too far away from the young man. 

"It's rather... Odd. I suppose I need to go talk to the solicitors, but no rush, since whoever left me the house has passed," Q said thoughtfully. "But it's still rather a mystery."

"I see." Bond frowned a little himself. "So you don't know who left you the house at all?" That was rather odd, indeed.

"No, I mean I had no relatives that I knew of, and it's hard to imagine someone would randomly choose me," Q frowned. "But I can't really afford not to be here... So..." he brightened. "Maybe you can tell me where you research things and I can look it up?"

It was a puzzling thought, and Bond perked up at the question. "Oh," he blinked. "Well, I mostly do field research, but I can show you a few sites that are maybe useful. If not, I can ask around. It's easy enough." He smiled.

"That would be great," Q smiled. "I am good with computers, or else I'd do barmy all the way up here. Do you know the village doesn't have a library? If I want anything published after the second War, it's Amazon or Google."

Bond nodded. "I do." He had had a round about the village to see what it had to offer, and so far, not by much other than rental cars. "But that has to be inconvenient..." Then he recalled what Q had said before. "What does the library here have, though?" 

"Every classic you could imagine, including a number in Latin and Greek. The upper shelves have journals, and I managed to get down a few with the kitchen tongs, but they are from the early 1900s. I suppose the higher up you go, the earlier they are. But I read the last one, there was a note included that it was found in a soldier's things after he died in battle, and sent to his mother," Quentin took off his glasses and polished them.

Bond whistled. Just hearing about it made him want to have a browse through the shelves himself. "That's quite a valuable collection." He nodded. "The last one? You mean the last of the books?" 

"Yes, well the last journal," Q nodded. "Maybe you can help me move the journals down to lower shelves, and put books I won't read higher up."

 

"Sure thing. Just call me whenever you feel like it." Thunder stroke outside, and Bond turned to look, eyeing the still pouring torrent. "You think how long before it lets up?"

"Ugh, this time of year might be a day or two," Gabriel frowned. "I can lend you an umbrella if you need things from the car, but there should be pajamas and robes in each room."

Making a face, Bond nodded. "I may need that umbrella. I left my clothes in the car."

 

"Coat rack by the front door," Gabriel smiled. "Come on, I'll bring a torch so you can see. It got dark early with the storm."

"Thanks. Give me a second," Bond said, picking up his jacket to go down the hall back to the front door to hang it up. 

Passing by the mirror, for a second there, he thought he saw a glimpse of something. And with a frown, the man turned back, staring straight into the reflective surface, finding nothing, before turning his gaze around carefully, fearing some sort of unwanted perpetrator, and noting that nothing was there either.

Concluding that it was a trick of light, seeing as the kitchen was just a few metres away, he strode to the rack and hung his jacket up, glad that it had dried enough under the heat of the flames in the hearth and wasn't dripping. 

"Okay, let's go," Bond returned and smiled at Q.

"Alright, lead on then," Q smiled, unfolded the umbrella, and flipped on the torch. The house glowed warm in the soft light, and Q smiled at laughter he heard upstairs.

"Right then," he shook off the musings, and opened the door. The rain was still pouring down, and the driveway looked like a lake. "Not sure if it's better if you go barefoot or ruin your shoes, my wellies are far too small," he apologised.

Bond took off his shoes and grinned. "Let me go barefoot. I'm too impatient to wait for my shoes to dry anyway." He left them to the side and pluck the umbrella from Q's hand. "Shine the way for me." 

Winking, Bond ran into the rain. Mud splashed all around, he made it to the car and unlocked it, reaching into the back to grab his traveling suitcase, then dashed back to where Q was. 

Q watched with wide eyes, a delighted grin on his face. "You're mad. And you haven't been in the house long enough to blame going barmy on it," he laughed.

"I wonder if it's safe for you to stay here, you'll go round the bend," he pulled James into the house and shook off the umbrella. "We're going to get into so much trouble."

"I am mad." Bond laughed back. "And why would I go round the bend in this house?" He blinked, shaking the water off of him like a wet dog. "Why would we get into trouble?" 

"Just wait," Q shook his head with a laugh. "Just wait till you hear things going bump and voices... And dancing? Oh lord."

Just then the record player clicked on to a fast tango, and there was an echo of shoes in the hall.

Bond started a little, his eyes turning to where he thought the sound of the music was coming from. "I thought you only danced salsa?" he murmured, not yet broaching on what Q had just said about bumps and... voices.

"Yup, never heard this record," Q shrugged. "I played some of the opera the day I got here, but the record was scratchy and skipped. This sounds new, but... Well let me show you to your room." He lifted James's bag and started up the stairs, and the lights turned on in the upstairs hall as he reached the landing.

Bond frowned a little at that answer, feeling as though it was somewhat peculiar, considering the way  _ how _ Q was saying it. But he let it slide and followed. "I can take that," he said when Q took his bag, reaching for it, before the light paused him. "Was that automatic?" he asked. "The music?"

"No... Um, look. The house sort of has a mind of it's own," Q said sheepishly. "It gives you what it thinks you need. Heating unit, oven, stereo, lights, I can't begin to explain it."

Bond's steps halted on the stairs, looking at Q. The light was casting shadows on the striking features of his facial contours. "How exactly does it do that?"

"I have no idea," Q frowned. "I can't tell if there are hidden sensors- believe me I've looked- it's haunted, someone is fucking with me... No idea."

"Haunted," Bond repeated, before seemingly growing amused. "Interesting," he said, meaning it, as he resumed walking up the steps.

"This is your room," Gabriel pointed to a room at the end of hall. "Do take advantage of the never ending supply of hot water-" he turned on the bathroom lights to reveal a full tub, steaming with hot water. "Um, yeah," he ran his fingers through his hair. "If only the ghost did dishes."

Eyeing the steaming bathtub, Bond frowned. "So you're telling me," he said slowly, turning back to face Q, "that there are actual  _ ghosts _ here in the house?


	2. Chapter 2

“Um... yes?" Q gave him a rather embarrassed grin. "At least they're the Disney Beauty and the Beast variety, rather than the Poltergeist. But in my own defense, I haven't been out of your sight in the last hour, and the water is still warm. It's rather vexing, until you get used to it. It was quite helpful when I was still having dizzy spells from the accident."

There was a long pause of silence as Bond processed this, scratched the side of his neck, then simply nodded. Not Poltergeist-ish, then... whatever that meant. He had heard of the Poltergeist before, but... That was just a horror film that used supernatural elements as the fright factor. 

 

This was real life. 

 

But in a way, Bond lived by what he saw for his own two eyes, as well as his interpretation, and (his eyes were wandering over to the bath again) Q was right. The only time Bond had taken his eyes off of the younger man was when he had to run to the car to get his suitcase... which couldn't possibly have been enough time for Q to run all the way up here, fill the tub, turn off the water, then run back down. The window of opportunity had been too slim, if not outright impossible, unless Q was a superhuman or something of the sort. 

 

But saying that was no different than saying that there was, indeed, something out-of-the-norm was operating here. 

 

"Okay," Bond said, leaving his belonging next to the foot of the bed. He still didn't know how to respond properly to this. All his life, he had never believed in this sort of thing, not even God and other deities above that much, and now something inexplicable was blatantly happening before his eyes. It was mind boggling. "Is there anything else that I may need to know about this place?" 

 

He looked at Q, not out of scepticism, but something more of a searching nature. Curious. And puzzled. And that would be putting it mildly. 

"Um, the refrigerator has been known to have things that I didn't order," Q said. "Lights, music, water... Flowers growing in the atrium that I didn't plant, the wall paint and wallpaper changes... It depends on what details you notice beforehand, because things change from day to day... Paintings, rugs, dishes. I didn't pay attention to the originals, so I'm not sure if they are the same. And the synesthesia only started when I got here and played this piano, but I could only play the practice keyboard at university, so I'm not sure?"

Bond nodded, his frown deepening. "Okay," he said slowly. "Do... the reason behind all that occurrences ever... appear?"

 

"Sometimes... There is a little girl, and her younger brother, and an old groundskeeper," Q ran a nervous hand through his hair. "And an older lady with a bun who complains about the newfangled contraptions in the kitchen. She thinks the disposal is the devil."

"Right," Bond took in a breath. "Are they the type to disturb other people's sleep? Since I'm not the most friendly when someone or something wake me up suddenly."

"No, they're usually quiet at night," Q shook his head. "They like to move things when I'm looking for them, like my shoes. But nothing has been broken or missing permanently."

Now that sort of reminded him of the Sixth Sense, Bond thought to himself. "That's good to know then. I do hope they won't move my belongings because I'm rather keen on having my things where I put them." 

"I wouldn't worry about it, they haven't been interested in the workman," Q smiled. "This is the first time anything has happened with another person here. The villagers think I'm barmy asking questions."

 

Bond sighed. "They're just too afraid to think that there really is something there..." He trailed off a little. "Do they do anything else other than just... making things happen around the house?"

"Well I suppose they take care of the outside lawns and things," Q scrunched his nose. "Even the inside just needed repairs, not much cleaning."

"Housekeeping ghosts," Bond muttered with a slow nod. "Okay. Anything else you think I need to know?"

"Just be careful what you say out loud, things will show up," Q grinned. "And it might be quite literally what you asked for."

Bond couldn't help but snort a laugh at that. "You seem perfectly at ease with this, aren't you," he said. "How literal, though?"

"I said out loud that my shoes needed a cleaning from the mud, and I'd do it in the morning," Q giggled. "So at exactly midnight, there they were soaking in the tub."

 

Bond blinked at that. "I think that's more of a shortcut approach than literal." He chuckled. "Alright. Noted."

"Well either way, I avoid talking out loud when I'm alone," Q said. "There's a newspaper office in the village, if you want to take a trip with me when the rain ends. We might get a few clues, and I can pick up the records I ordered from the town clerk."

"Sure." Bond nodded. "I'll help you out around the house tomorrow. Just tell me what you need me to do, okay?" He smiled. 

"Rotating the books in the library and clearing the building supplies from the stairs is more than enough," Q frowned. "I feel useless not being able to do something so simple."

"I know it's a difficult thought to avoid," Bond began with a soft sigh, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze after a pausing beat. "But don't think of yourself as useless, not when you're only healing from grave injuries. Give yourself time," the man advised.

Q shivered a bit, and leaned into the hand unconsciously, like a cat. "I should let you get to bed," he cleared his throat after the touch had gone longer than he could ignore.

Bond blinked and stepped back, smiling. "You should head to bed, too," he said. "And don't hesitate to call me if you think you need my help with anything. I don't sleep that much myself, and I usually sleep late, too."

"Alright," Q blushed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll probably go play piano for a while, if it won't bother you."

"It won't," Bond reassured with a shake of his head. "I'll just get my things sorted." 

Q headed to the piano, and soon Beethoven was leaking out, in a swirl of colors. He played the slower parts easily, but the colors around him darkened as his fingers slipped on the faster, larger hand spanned chords.

A soft hand found its way on his shoulder. "Easy," Bond murmured from behind the younger man.

Q jumped, and his hands came down hard on the keyboard. "Sorry, I get into my head when I play," he gave a shaky laugh.

"Sorry," Bond said apologetically with a small smile. "But take it slow. Don't push yourself too much."

"I... It let's me express emotions without it becoming something negative," Q whispered. "But it makes the house sad."

Bond sat down next to Q and looked at the younger man. "Let's go out and explore the areas around when the rain cease then, so you can get some fresh air and a change of scenery?" He smiled encouragingly. "In the meantime, maybe we can look for another way for you to let off some steam whenever we have to stay indoors?"

"I tried walking around the house and gardening in the atrium, but that wasn't much help," Q frowned.

"Hence a more dramatic change of scenery. We have the time and means." Bond winked. "Come on. Do you want to play that song again? I can take care of the bigger spans of notes for you?" he offered. "My piano skills are rusty at best, so don't expect much is all." 

"Its Fur Elise, I have the sheet music, if you know how to read it," Q blushed under the attention.

Bond hummed and nodded. "I'll give it a shot. Where do you keep it?"

Q stood and took some stained music from inside the piano bench. "I brought what I had from  the city, hopefully you can ignore my messy handwritten notes. The piano was a really welcome surprise. I brought my electric keyboard, but this was waiting for me," he unfolded the well thumbed music. "Which side is better for you?"

"No worries." Bond took the music sheets and began looking through them. "And well... which side do your prefer? I'm really just here to accompany you." 

"Um, left? If you can manage the chords... That's where I had trouble," Q stretched his fingers and cracked his knuckles.

Bond caught Q's hands as the younger man did that, holding in surprisingly gently in his seemingly firm grip. "They say that's not good for the joints," he said. "And yes, I'll manage the left side."

"Yes well, 'they' say ghosts aren't real... So what," Q sat down and ran through several arpeggios.

"True," Bond muttered. "But cracking them really aren't good for your joints." He smiled, though, listening to the notes and joining in, warming his fingers up.

 

"You've been holding out on me, you've had lessons," Q accused with a smile.

"Still rusty," Bond grinned. "I haven't touched the keyboard in years." 

"Fine... one, two, three, four-" Q counted out and hit the first notes. The colors swarmed around his head in tendrils, and he waited for James to join in.

Bond waited, watching with a smile, before choosing the most appropriate moment to slip in and join the flow. He didn't experience the synesthesia, but he enjoyed the experience enough that it brought his senses to an exhilaration as well. 

"Oh... your colors are different," Q pointed out with a smile. "They're more metallic."

 

Blinking, Bond turned to Q, somewhat surprised. "Metallic?" His head tilted to the side a little.

 

"Copper, bronze, silver," Q traced his free hand along the strands. "I wish you could see them... although I didn't before I came here. I'm not sure it's my brain, or the piano."

Bond followed the movement of Q's hand, finger long fingers, and nodded. "They sound surprisingly nice," he murmured, more to himself than anything, before turning back to the younger man. "Well, I think the place is... attached to you?"

"It does seem to like me," Q agreed. "Thankfully there hasn't been any vandalism. I am waiting for the rain to let up, and I was thinking of going to the village and getting garden vegetables for the atrium. At least I won't need to buy as much food, and I think they can be grown year round."

"Self-efficiency," Bond nodded to himself with a smile. "I like that." He followed and accompanied Q as the tune meandered. "And I think the ghostly part may have something to do with that lack of vandalism." He chuckled a little to himself. 

 

"The people in the village told me that even the teenagers won't come up here, so the ghost stories might help," Q laughed. "I certainly haven't seen anything malevolent or evil, although I am campaigning for weather control."

"Indeed," Bond nodded in agreement. "I didn't know that ghosts control weather?"

"They don't, but of all the random powers, it would be bloody useful," Q turned the page of the music and did a variation on the melody that was penciled in.

"IF they could do that, things would be rather finicky," Bond chuckled before humming along. "That's nice." And spontaneously he accompanied it with a new short notes that he supposed would go well with the melody. "You know, you could try composing?" 

"I do a little of that," Q admitted. "But it's bad enough I have one job that barely pays and isn't real work. Two would probably mean I just lived off the house inheritance. Not that I couldn't- I've just always worked. I feel lazy otherwise."

"Hmm," Bond nodded. "I'm sure we'll figure something else that can get you substantial income."

 

"I'd just pose for Greek statues, if only I wasn't two thousand years late," Q joked as he coaxed the last few notes from the keys in a swirl of yellow. "I did model for a freshman sketching class once."

 

"I can imagine that you'd make a good model..." He turned to look at Q, blue eyes subtly raking over the younger man. "Have you ever considered that as a profession?"

 

"Not... Really?" Q sighed. "I'd rather not be photographed by creepy old men as wank material, even in the name of art. And I'm skinny, and shy."

"No!" Bond laughed a little. "As a professional model, who poses with proper clothes on, I mean." He was looking at Q again, considering this time. "From a photographer's point of view, even if I'm not really a fashion photographer, your face and body frame have angular features that people would find appealing."

 

"Oh! I'm not... I don't look like that anymore," Q fingered the opening notes to Moonlight Sonata and flipped the sheet music nervously. "There's a lot of scars... From the accident," he whispered. "They had to stitch me up from the shattered glass."

Bond shook his head, reaching out his hand to tilt Q's head back so they could properly look at one another. Perhaps it was a bold move, but that was just the way he operated. 

 

"You don't have to expose your skin," he said, looking into those grey-green eyes to silently state his own seriousness regarding the subject. "I mean it."

 

"I... Maybe," Q whispered and licked his lips. "You're too nice though," he returned to the music with a sigh.

"It's a professional assessment," Bond stated. "And I don't think I am being too nice with it, either." He turned, focusing back on the music as well. "Consider it. I have people whom I can call, Q."

Q just nodded and continued playing, trying to ignore how close Bond was sitting. He hit a wrong note and shook his hands to loosen them. "I can play you something I wrote recently. I've been trying to play pieces that are all one color."

Bond took in the reaction before nodding and standing up, leaving the chair entirely to Q once more. "Please. I'd love to hear it," he smiled, leaning against the piano.

Q leaned in and studied the keyboard, and then fingered a set of minor chords that sounded like church bells. He built the tension and let it trickle away, like rapids into a stream.

Bond watched and listened, letting the melody wash over him, as he took in the image of Q, so focused yet relaxed at the same time as he allowed himself to get lost in the music. And the man smiled softly. 

Q let the notes fade and lifted his head. "I hope that wasn't boring," he cleared his throat.

Bond smiled and clapped his hands. "Of course not."

"I like to start with a chord or two, and then see what notes match color," Q blushed.

"It's beautiful," Bond assured him.

"I should let you sleep, thank you, James," Q stood and covered the piano keys. "Goodnight," he said, smiling. "Help yourself to breakfast if I s leep in ."

Nodding, Bond straightened up and stretched out his joints and muscles a little. "Goodnight to you, too." He smiled. "Call me if you need anything."

"Same," Q smiled and picked up his book from the piano, and hurried to his room, before a surprised yelp emerged.

Bond, who was just turning the corner to his own bedroom, froze at that, and rushed over immediately, fearing that Q might have tripped and fallen or something. "Q?" He called. "What is it?" 

"Just prefer to turn on the light before I find the floor with my face," Q frowned, reaching for the light switch. "Oh..." there was a pair of polished black shoes he had tripped on, and a new black suit waiting on the bed.

Bond helped him up. "Are you okay?" he asked, worried watching for any sort of forming bruises, before noticing the shoes and suit himself. "What's this all about?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, I don't own a suit, quirks of the house," Q shook his head. "What am I going to wear it to garden? Honestly."

Bond was going over to pick the suit up, ironed and pressed, before holding it out before Q. "It is your size..." He muttered. "Feel like trying it on? Since it's already here anyway?"

"I suppose," Q nodded, heading off for the bathroom.

 

"What am I supposed to do in this? I look like royalty," he frowned as he emerged, the suit fitting like a second skin. The button down shirt matched his eyes, and the tie matched the suit, with silver strands woven through it.

Bond looked up from where he was waiting and paused as Q emerged from the bathroom, all dressed up in his newly given suit. What Bond had been thinking about, regarding the house and its strange occurrences, dispersed from his mind. 

 

"Do you," Bond cleared his throat, "mind if I get my camera?"

"Camera? Sure?" Q looked puzzled. "But why?"

"Because you look stunning," Bond said simply. "Wait for me." And he was going back to his room, reaching for his bag and taking out his camera and laptop before heading back to Q's room. 

Q bent to tie on the shoes, which were also a perfect fit. Soft leather, they were perfect for dancing.

Bond returned, adjusted his camera, before taking a couple of snaps for test. After that, his attention was fixed on Q again. "Can you pose for me?" he asked with a small smile.

"Like this?" Q smiled through his lashes, what his best friend Eve called his heartbreaker look. He let Bond click the camera a few times and turned, looking back over his shoulder.

Heart breaker, indeed. The light source wasn't too good, but that shouldn't be a problem. Not when Bond had a good model on hand—a model who knew rather well what his good angles were. 

 

"Look upward a little," Bond said, signaling with his hand.

Q looked up at the picture next to his bed, one of him and Eve on his last birthday, and smiled wide, remembering the epic hangover, and breakfast in bed, Eve had made sure followed.

Blinking, Bond snapped a photo, then lowered the camera, clicking through the photos. "I think these should be good enough." 

"Sure, I think there's a store in town that prints pictures, I know they made copies of documents and sent faxes for me,' Q toed off the shoes. "These are made to dance though, it's lovely."

Bond hummed, considering the shoes as he insert the camera memory card into the reader. "I can show you how to tango with those on you whenever you feel like it." He smiled and opened the files, loading them into Photoshop. 

"Alright," Q smiled. "Why not?" He glanced down at the photos. "Oh!" He said softly. "What did you do? I don't look like that."

Bond smiled and looked up. "I did nothing other than sharpening the details and brightening the overall contrast, Q." He paused just a little. "It's all you."

"No! I don't look like that," Q shook his head. "I look in the mirror all the time, and it's nothing like that. I'm skinny, and short, with messy hair and big glasses. This makes me look... beautiful."

"Because you are beautiful, Q," Bond said softly. "Taking the photos was my only job, the rest is... well, like I said,  _ you. _ " He turned the laptop fully into Q's view. "See for yourself. I told you that you have very appealing angular features... And you're not that short. I'd wager you're only an inch shorter than me."

"I don't know..." Q shook his head. "That looks like someone who is happy, and has everything they want. I'm just... me. Anyway, are you still up for trying the tango? I think there's a record."

Blinking, Bond decided he shouldn't saying anything else about the photos for now, and nodded, standing up and closing the lid to his laptop. "I won't be surprised if another record of tango played again," he joked, referring to what had happened last time when they had still been downstairs a while before. 

"Yes well... I've learned not to be surprised by much, unless it trips me in the dark," Q made his way down the stairs, the entryway lights turning on as he did. "Oh... um, James?" Sitting by the phonograph was an old fashioned dance card, with James's name filled in every slot.

Bond picked up the dance card, its papers yellow and old, reading the cursive in which his name was written in. "Interesting," he murmured. "I thought the house only respond to you?" he turned to look at Q.

 

"That's what I thought too," Q turned on the tango record on the phonograph. "But there hasn't been anyone else here besides the workmen. Maybe it has to do with people staying at the house for more than a few nights. How do you want me, then? I mean..." he blushed and held out his hand to James.

"Just as delightful as you are," Bond laughed, taking Q's hand and drawing the younger man closer into him as they went to the dance floor. 

Q swallowed and licked his lips, following James's lead. He knew the counts of the music and some basic steps, and sighed into James's hands around him.

"All right," Bond murmured, looking into Q's eyes, their bodies close, just bare inches apart. "Just follow my lead." And one of his hands slid down onto the small of Q's back, counting the beats aloud. 

Q nodded and smiled, swept along with the beat of the music. He found himself humming the counts as James spoke, the press of their bodies warm in the evening chill.

As the sways of their bodies began blending increasingly seamlessly into the tune of the music, Bond started reacting more instinctively as well, his hand never leaving Q's  back and waist, just moving to sometimes brush over the rise of his hip bones underneath the seemingly tailored suit that the younger man was wearing. In their proximity, he could feel the brush of Q's warm breaths over his skin, and Bond smiled, eyes boring into those green pools as well.

"You're very good at this," Q whispered, watching the clear blue eyes. "You have a future as a professional dance teacher if you ever give up journalism."

The notes reached a climax, and Bond pulled Q closer. "You're a fast learner yourself," he said, their faces close enough that their noses almost touched. "And I don't think I'll ever get round to teach anything professional." He chuckled. "I'm not patient enough." And with that, he briefly relented his hold around Q's waist just so both of them could stretch out across the dance floor, arms still linked to one another, before spinning the younger man back into him. 

"Oh!" Q breathed, pressed close against him in the flickering firelight. "Well you're quite... good," he took a breath and stepped back. "Perhaps we should stop before I embarrass myself and do something foolish."

"Embarrass yourself?" Bond asked. "Q... I wasn't exaggerating when I said you have angular features that can be appealing to people," he said slowly, watching the younger man.

"There's a market for every fetish," Q blushed. "But you're quite good looking, and no one like you has ever given me the time of day. At best, I appeal to starving art students and poets."

"You discredit your own appearance, Q," Bond said. "And I think you're worth every minute of my time, as it should be for those who actually appreciate you."

"One more dance, then?" Q hid his face against James's sleeve, trying to calm the thudding of his heart.

"If you want to," Bond smiled, noticing the pink tinge that graced those cheekbones. "We can choose another dance, too. Anything that you'd like."

"Your choice?" Q said softly, hands still entwined with Bond's. "I'm sure the music will adjust accordingly," he said with a smile as the record switched tracks. "Something slower, I suppose."

"How about... a waltz?" Bond suggested, and truly, just a few seconds later, the track was switching to a slow waltz, and Bond let out a slightly breathless chuckle. "Well, shit," he muttered to himself, turning his attention back from the phonograph to Q. What the hell, really. Might as well take advantage of it. 

 

The practical part of his brain was taking this in strides. 

 

"Shall we?" he said, smiling at the younger man.

"I'd love to," Q flashed a smiled at him as he counted out the one-two-three in his head, tucked close against James.

Bond moved slowly along, letting the tune guide his steps as he led Q around the dance floor, their bodies kept close, movement fluids as they swirled in the flickering light of the ballroom.

"Don't look now," Q smiled, his hair shining in the flickering candle light, "but apparently the house has decided we need candles and a fire. Very romantic," he sighed wistfully.

The golden fire flickered in Q's eyes, the fractured light shattered into bright amber flakes that shone bright in those green, deep depths. "Romantic, indeed," Bond whispered in reply.

Q swallowed, and it sounded loud in his own ears. He laid his cheek against the soft fabric of Bond's shirt as they swayed together, the music slowing to a halt.

They slowed and eased to a stop in the middle of the dance floor, and Bond didn't move away from where they were, the rain casting streaks down along the tall windows, almost encasing them in this warm, candle-lit space. 

 

"Thank you," Q said softly. "That was wonderful," he trailed his hand down James's arm.

Bond smiled. "It really was... You're a good dancer, Q. Thank you, for giving me those two dances." 

"Goodnight, James," Q pressed a shy kiss to his cheek, and ran up the stairs.  
He collapsed onto his bed, face ablaze at the nerve he'd had.

Bond watched as Q dashed so quickly away, not even having the chance to kiss the younger man goodnight just yet himself. His hand wandered up to brush over where Q's soft lips had pressed to, and smiled a little as he went out of the ballroom and started up the stairs. 

 

"Goodnight, Q," he said, just beyond the door to Q's room, before retreating back to his own. 

Q fell asleep with the silk shirt still on, jacket hung on the desk chair. He had a large smile on his face, the first that had nothing to do with a distant past memory in ages.


	3. Chapter 3

Too excited to sleep, Q was up early, preparing breakfast when James came down the stairs.

Bond, who had been trying to reach Mallory but couldn't due to poor signal, sighed as he stretched and just went about his morning routine and changed into a different set of clothes, watching as the cascade of rain seemingly never eased outside. The sky was just as grey and cloudy as it had been before the torrent came pouring the day before, and Bond reached the kitchen to the sound of Q's cooking. 

"You're up early," he smiled, going in to stand next to the younger man. "Anything I can help with?"

"Hello, morning," Q smiled. "You can check the kettle, and steep the tea. Breakfast is laid out in the atrium, I just cut some fruit and baked scones, nothing that would spoil if you slept."

"Sounds good," Bond smiled, his eyes turning to where the kettle was on the cast iron stove, its lid dancing just a little from the heated steaming, signalling the impending boil. 

With that, he turned back to where he had seen Q take out the mug for his tea the previous night, opening the cabinet to retrieve two mugs, more of a modern addition, before putting the tea bags in, just in time to heat the kettle whistling. Carefully, Bond lifted the kettle from its place, pouring hot water in to start steeping the tea. 

"Shall we?" He smiled at Q once he was done.

"Yes," Q smiled happily, and took a mug. "I went into the library this morning, couldn't sleep really... Well I was wondering what order we should read the journals? Do we go from the originals forward, the newest back, because they would be the easiest to trace?"

"That could work," Bond nodded. "Or we can just divide everything into clear sections, since we're already arranging it anyway. I can contact someone to have a few metal plates engrave, and we can just arrange it into categories."

"Oh! That's so... organized," Q laughed. "I've been using post it notes so far, and book marks. I wasn't exactly sure what I was looking for, so I read the last few, and then skipped around with the ones before. There didn't seem to be much mention of the house, other than taking over and coming home to live here when the journal owner got married."

Bond grinned. "Glad you like it." He smiled as they headed over to the atrium. "And that is rather odd... You have checked every book, though?" 

"Of the ones I can reach," Q nodded. "That's why I was thinking we could move them down first, and then we can start going through them. Some writers filled dozens of journals, some only had a single book where they wrote child births, weddings, and deaths. It's hard to tell what the common thread is, I don't even believe they are all related."

"Let's do that," Bond agreed, interest and curiosity piqued himself. It wasn't as if he had much else to do in this sort of weather anyway. It was already a good thing that the car hadn't somehow been washed away yet... but it would be one hell of a task to get it out of the mud.

"Alright," Q agreed. "I built a fire in the library, we just have to light it. There isn't much else to do in this downpour; the roads down to town will be flooded," he sipped his tea and stretched on his lounge chair like a cat.

Bond watched with a smile, and nodded in agreement. "There's no light in the library yet, or is it just cold?" he asked out of curiosity.

"Oh, there's electricity, that's just for the cold," Q said. "And the damp can't be good for the books either."

Bond nodded his understanding. "Neither is fire, but we need to keep the place dry and airy anyway..." He mused, thinking about this over in his mind. "No direct sunlight—" this honestly wouldn't be too difficult to achieve, "—and good air circulation are the best ways, I suppose. How's your air circulation there?"

"Good I think, the place does have central heating and air conditioning, which is rare for an old estate," Q said. "I was thinking about getting something to monitor and control humidity."

Bond nodded. "That could work, too, though it'll need a bit of wiring... Keeping your books three inches from the walls and include enclosures for some that really need those, are good as well."

"Oh boy," Q frowned. "I might need to call in a conservationist to plan that. Maybe I should just move the journals into a more regulated environment, and keep the library for an office."

"Whichever way you think will do, really," Bond replied, biting on some fruit.

"I never had to worry about more than a one room flat," Q said ruefully. "Preserving a manor house is quite... Daunting."

"It is," Bond agreed. "You'll need help and research for this." It was an old house after all.

"Well, I'll research online this afternoon what I can about it, and when it eventually stops raining, we can go to county records," Q stood and gathered his dishes. "I know there's a house in the village that is preserved as a historical site, I'm going to get in touch with them and see who they recommend."

Bond stood to do the same and nodded. "That's the best place to start once we've tried to go through all the books."

"Which is no small task, I assure you," Q laughed. "Just wait till you see the library," he grinned. "I could be a man of leisure and just read, and never work my way through it all."

"I can sort of imagine how vast it is," Bond grinned back. "But somehow, I have a feeling that you'll try to work your way through them all."

"Well I'd need to learn the classic languages like Greek and Latin first, it would be the endeavour of a lifetime," Q grinned.

"It's good that you seem to be looking forward to it." Bond set the dishes into the sink. "Many would normally find it daunting.”

"Well I can't complain about the chance to learn," Q shrugged. "I love a challenge, and who doesn't love a mystery?" He washed the dishes quickly and boiled another kettle of water for more tea. "If you'll start the library fire, I'll be right there."

Bond was about to launch in and help, but paused upon hearing Q's request, and nodded. "Sure." He nodded. "Give me the direction, and I'll head there first."

"To the left of the atrium," Q pointed back into the hallway. "I keep the door closed to keep it warm but you can open it and draw the curtains."

Bond nodded. "Call me if you need me." Patting Q's shoulder, he turned to go, heading straight to the library.

"Shall do," Q found a tray and set mugs and a pot for tea. He scooped out a loose leaf Earl Grey, and laid sugar, lemon, and milk for James to choose.

By the time the tea was steeped several minutes later and he made his way to the library, the worst of the chill had been chased out by the fire.

The floor to twenty foot ceiling bookcases smelled like old archives, and periodic ladders marked the joining of shelves. He laid the tea service down on the desk blotter and smiled.

“It's warm at least, but still daunting," he told James.

"True," the blond man agreed. The library was as large as it was breathtaking, and Bond seemed to have already started, a small notebook in his hand, worn and well-used, a pen in the other, scribbling something down. 

"So, we have journals... what else have you seen so far?"

"Oh, there's a bit of everything," Q said. "Classics, poetry, novels... Someone had books on sheep breeding. It seems like every owner just added what they were interested in."

Nodding, Bond scribbled those down, each on an individual paper before tearing them out. "The random ones we'll mark as 'Other' for now." He laid the papers out. "I'll move the books down so you can sort through them?"

"Alright," Q went down the spines. "Darwin's Origin of the Species, Jules Verne, Arthur Conan Doyle, Plutarch, Shakespeare, dog training... Shit. Almost makes me feel organized."

Bond laughed, starting from the lowest rows first, careful with the covers and helped Q sort through most of them before starting on bringing new ones down. Nearly an hour later, and they were only about done with a part of the library. 

"Fuck, I'm out of shape," Bond muttered under his breath as he set six more tomes down onto the floor. At least what they had managed to finish seemed organized enough.

"I told you, it's very random," Q laughed. "Let's open the first and last journals and break for a cup of tea, maybe it will give us some ideas," he offered.

Bond nodded. "Let's," he agreed, letting out a breath. And no, he refused to believe he was that out of shape. 

Alec would laugh at him if he found out.

Q poured them each a mug of tea and flipped open the last journal and began to read.

" 'The master of the house is given a journal on his eighteenth birthday, or the day he marries, whichever comes first. I go off to Normandy tomorrow to fight, and too few men have returned, so I may not see the latter. It's heartbreaking to know that I'll never be able to tell them I'm in love, as I have already dreamed of my death.'

There's only that entry, and a note saying this was found among the personal effects of a foot soldier after the battle," Q frowned.

Bond frowned as well, sipping his tea. "Did he mean that literally or figuratively?" Normally, he wouldn't even be asking things like this... but such as it had been with this house, and how odd things had been happening... Bond supposed it was only right to suspect. "The dreaming part."

"I don't know, I suspect he had at the least a bit of talent for prediction. He seemed very certain," Q frowned. "I wonder who the lover was."

"We'll probably never know," Bond murmured. "Unless we know his name and that the name exists in the town's records... if there are such records."

"There will be church records certainly, births, baptisms, weddings, deaths," Q shivered. "He was so bloody young... Younger than I am by far. And he never told his lover. He doesn't even say their name... I wonder."

"Or, if this house was important enough back then, considering how big it is, there might be records of its inheritors... If not, this is a small, secluded town. If they had kept their drafting list for Normandy, there's no way we cannot find out who he was."

"Hmmm, brilliant," Q jotted that down. "What did you find in the first journal?"

Bond was just turning the first page, skimming the words before returning to the start. "Probably not the actual first of them all..." And he began to read:

"The fact that they were giving us money to build a house is already curious as it. However, more curious is the fact that Father and Mother are considering such a thing, and up on the mountains also! They even scorned me for my protests, which are only logical in this sort of situation. 

Just the day before the last, they were talking about—Veins. When I asked what that meant, Mother said I had forgotten my place, that the School had rotted my brain. Offended, I begged to differ, before my parents proceeded to have an argument about who was responsible for 'what happened' to me, as I quote. Apparently, I have forgotten my 'duties,' what ever they are, and am currently unfit for them as I am. I do not understand, nor can I talk to them as of yet to see exactly what they were talking about. 

I frustrates me. I have not slackened from any such duties which I am aware of, and I did not waste my time and effort at Durham. . ."

"Durham University..." Bond's frown deepened. "What veins?" he muttered under his breath, flipping through the pages as quick as he could afford, trying not to damage the old papers.

"Veins? Blood lines?" Q shook his head. "Is there a date?" He looked over James’s shoulder.

"1837," Bond muttered, eyes narrowed as he traced the smudged ink, fade considerably already from time. "That's... not too long after Durham itself was founded. And something tells me it's not just about bloodlines... Probably has something to do with the house, too..."

"Durham, bloodlines, money to build a house..." Q wrote that down. "What else does the man say?"

Bond took another sip of tea, then began: 

"The house is finally finished. Grand and new and attractive, oddly bearing resembling features from our old house that was destroyed in the flood. And no one has let me in on why people helped us build it just yet. At least no one seems malicious, though this remains puzzling still. Some may call it kindness amongst neighbors, and I do believe in that as much as I believe that loving and caring neighbors just do not usually give one enough money to rebuild a broken house into a mansion on the condition it stays in the mountains."

Reasonable thoughts, Bond deemed. No normal neighbors gave enough just for anyone to build their house back into a mansion as vast as this one.

He turned the page.

"Mother had a few guests over today. Some of the women brought their daughters as well, no one whom I appreciate—especially with their flaunting. I made up a reason to stay away and only came back just in time to bid them off, out of common courtesy. 

However, just as I had changed into proper attires and descended the stairs, I heard one of the elder women say, 'Thank you for keeping us safe.'

I was in no knowledge that we were actively doing anything to help secure those people safety, and as we waved them goodbye, I confronted my mother on the issue, which she hesitated, probably to decide if she should tell me what ever that was going on, before waving it off with an even odder statement: "Once you have relearnt how to connect with your senses, I will tell you."

What is that supposed to mean?

Something is going on, and I will find out what it is one way or another."

"Connect with his senses?" Q said thoughtfully. "Is there a predator that no one but their bloodline can see? Vampire hunters?"

Bond gave Q look at the mention of vampires and their hunters, and decided not to ask. 

"I don't know... Hardly seemed the type, and even that doesn't explain the house."

"Sorry, I read a lot of paranormal novels," Q grinned unrepentantly. "But a house burned in the town, an anonymous benefactor offers the money to rebuild, but it has to be here? A crossroads? A ley line? I'm afraid I only see the things happen, not summon them."

"A flood," Bond muttered, distractedly correcting Q. "We really need to get through these to see if there are anything else useful or not."

"Even stranger..." Q said thoughtfully. "A flood that only bothered one house? The town is more or less level, you'll see when we drive in. A sinkhole, perhaps?"

Bond nodded. "I saw the town. Probably was a sinkhole... What made the ground there more vulnerable than the rest though?" He asked, more to himself than anything.

"No idea, it's on the side of a mountain, bloody rock," Q shook his head. "Mining? A well? I suppose that's another thing we need to add to the research pile," he made another note on his growing list.

Bond nodded. "We need to get through these journals... they may offer good details that public records won't hold."

"Well, the next one back is a man who moved to London to become a doctor, and there was no work here," Q shook his head. "He did retire here, and adopted a few boys from the local orphanage."

"And did any one of those boys became the next heir?" Why were there only boys though...

"I can't tell, there aren't any names of the boys he adopted, and the last boy didn't put his name in his journal. I suppose that's common, but..." Q checked the note. "It was sent back to this address, in the personal effects of Sam Winston though."

"I see. We just need to find as many names as we can." They were the most solid leads so far anyway. "And order them into a timeline as specific as possible."

"Alright, have you found any names so far in that journal?" Q took out a new piece of paper and wrote the name with the date of the last journal.

"Robert Bradley," Bond said. "No date so far..." He was quickly going through the rest of the pages, looking for anything that would catch his eyes... until he paused. 

"Changes are inevitable, and while the passing of King William IV is an unfortunate news—"

"1837," Bond supplied quickly. "The year Queen Victoria started her reign."

"Alright, so that's the year we are looking for the flood?" Q made another notation. "Doctor Alfred Greene, here we go. That's the one that retired back here and adopted the boys. I'll have to go through the journal in more detail later on to see if their names appear."

Bond nodded, interest piqued on a rainy day. "Up to getting some more books down?" 

"Sure," Q smiled. "If you give me a leg up, I can reach some of the higher shelves. I don't quite trust climbing the ladders, I don't know how old they are."

"No no," Bond said quickly. "I'll take care of bringing the books down so you can sort through them, just like before."

"Alright, just be careful," Q said. "What's next on the agenda? more journals, or random miscellaneous?" He scanned the shelves. "Oh no, next is manners for country gentleman, farm finance, and farmer's almanacs."

"Well," Bond muttered. "At least we know what to burn first if we ever turn out to be in need of fuel," he joked, starting to take those books down.

"Seriously," Q rolled his eyes. "Unless they contain some sort of secret code, who needs the farmer's almanac from 1901?" He flipped the pages and a shower of dust fell out, along with a slip of paper. "Oh well, I suppose hydrangeas and heather were in that year..." he read a copy of a seed order.

"Why specifically those two?" Bond wondered aloud as he worked.

"Letter H, need shade... Otherwise I'm fairly plant illiterate," Q frowned. "There's some notes on the back of the page about it being used for fertility, and opening portals between the worlds. Then for hydrangea... It's used for hex breaking and divination. Quite the combination.”

"Right," Bond muttered, feeling like they had come across a journal of one of those nut jobs more than anything because, in the end, perhaps there were something... unusual out there... That was just too much.

"There is a cauldron with flowers by the back door," Q said thoughtfully. "I'll have to research the significance of what's planted in it. I wouldn't know the first thing about growing herbs, but I can look them up."

A cauldron. Of course. This was starting to grate on his nerve of 'usual' logic. "That'll be a good place to start."

"Alright, be right back," Q stood. "Did we leave the umbrella by the door? I'll just take a photo."

"I think we did," Bond nodded, trying to wind back to the previous night. "Want me to come with you? It's pouring, and the ground is muddy outside."


	4. Chapter 4

"Yes please," Q made a face. "I'm not quite as adventurous as you, I don't fancy making mud pies between my toes. We should probably get pictures of all the plants when the rain dies down, I have a feeling they're all picked for their properties, rather than looks."

Bond nodded, climbing down the stairs. "If they grow in a cauldron, I'm pretty sure they aren't meant for looks," he joked. "Come on, let's go then."

"There's a section of books I saw... I couldn't reach them... Hmm," Q frowned and followed James. "Something about kitchen witch magic and alchemy. Thought it was fire fodder so I didn't look too closely."

Magic and alchemy. Bond turned the words in his head. "Show me where they are and I'll get them later."

"All I know about alchemy is that they are trying to turn lead into gold and live forever, so it didn't make much sense to me," Q snapped a quick picture of the cauldron by the back door while Bond held the umbrella. A large strip of lightning lit up the sky, and Q jumped when the thunder crackled. "Well i suppose it isn't letting up anytime soon," he muttered.

Bond made sure the spattering rain didn't get to Q as the young man took the pictures. Instinctively, Bond reached a hand to wrap around Q's shoulders when the other jumped at the slightly close clap of thunder. "Let's get you back inside," he said, steering them back indoors.

"Thanks, it's nasty out there," Q shivered and wiped at his glasses, shaking out his curls like a wet dog. "Just looks like cooking spices to me, but let me do some research online," he opened his laptop and curled up in front of the library fire.

It was rather surprising that wifi still survived in this remote place, but Bond smiled anyway and went back into the kitchen to refill their cups of tea before bringing one back and setting it down in front of the younger man. 

 

"I'll continue with bringing the books down," Bond told him, turning to do just that as he wanted to finish this as much as he could—he was not the sort of person to start something and leave it hanging.

Q hummed and kept typing. "To think I thought of pasta sauce," he frowned. "Basil, used for warding off harmful spells and spirits. Oregano, used for protection, and is a natural immune enhancer. Marjoram, protection from all harm. Thyme, protection and cleansing, and has antibacterial properties for dressing wounds," he looked up. "I'm sensing a theme. But just what the hell are we fighting?"

Bond listened before pausing at what Q just said, turning from where he was perching on the ladder. "Are we supposed to be fighting anything?" He arched an eyebrow.

"I don't know..." Q shrugged. "Maybe they just liked fresh herbs. But it's a troubling coincidence. A house flooded in a level town, they rebuilt out here, there's a cauldron with herbs for protection..."

Bond frowned, putting the couple of books in his hands onto the rising pile before gathering them and starting down the steps again. "Have you happened to ever find a, say, artillery room in this place?"

 

"There's a room with old hunting rifles and antique swords, not sure I'd call it artillery?" Q said. "There were some odd things in there, so I figured it was just storage... But now..."

"But of all the journals you've read so far, not one mentioned anything about... whatever this is?"

"Not in these two, or any I read at random," Q said. "But... They all seemed very, melancholy? They had a distinct notion of when they would die, and didn't try to stop it."

Which was a disturbing notion, to say the least, and Bond sighed. "Not that I believe in... prophecy or... preordained fates, because we make our own lives, but are you sure you should be staying here?"

"I told you... i didn't have anywhere else to go," Q shook his head. "After being in the hospital, I lost my apartment. I came with just my clothes and journals."

"Yes, but..." Bond worked his jaw. "You can come stay with me if you want? I have an apartment in London, and I'm away most of the time."

"Why... I mean, that's awfully nice of you," Q stuttered. "But I haven't foreseen my death, and... Well I'd like to figure this out," he blushed a warm pink.

Bond sighed and nodded. "If that's your wish. I won't force you."

"The city was a little overwhelming when I left," Q admitted quietly. "It was so loud, and crowded, and I got tired easily. And it's hard for me to believe that I'm important enough to be a target. Unless..."

"I happen to live in a quiet area, much because of the fact that the city is growing too loud and crowded for me, too." He considered Q for a moment. "Unless?" the man prompted.

"Do you think my accident...?" Q trailed off and swallowed hard. "It's too hard to even think about, that someone orchestrated that, targeted me on purpose. Am I going crazy on top of it all now too?"

 

Bond shook his head. "We can't be sure of anything right now... And I don't think you're crazy. No more than I am." He shot the younger man a smile.

"I hope that's meant to be reassuring," Q laughed. "I just never thought of myself as the sort of person to get mixed up in a mystery like this."

Bond shot Q a lazy smile before turning serious again. "Which is why my offer for you to stay with me, stands. Keep thinking about it and give me answer later."

 

"I'll keep it in mind," Q shivered. "What section are we tackling next on the books?"

"Not sure... Pick one at random for me." Bond smiled.

"I found those magic books, behind the door," Q pointed out a shelf just above his reach when he stood on his tip toes to point.

"All right. Magic next, it is," Bond said, moving the ladder over. Because he could reach them, yes, but they were old books, and he'd rather if his handling didn't ruin the covers. 

 

"They look ancient," Q said. "I wonder how old they are?" He took the first and set it down on the desk.

"Malleus Maleficarum," he breathed. "This looks like an original copy. "It was used during the Inquisition, as a guide on how to torture and try witches."

"I often think the ones who did those things were mostly those that needed the torture," Bond muttered as he took down the rest of the books.

"I agree," Q  frowned. "Most of the women convicted were killed so the church could have their land and money, or for being too outspoken. I have to hand it to the women that were able to keep the traditions alive, they were brave beyond measure."

 

Bond nodded, bringing the other books down. "Wait, traditions?" 

 

"The different traditions of common magic I know about, like Wicca, were passed by word of mouth," Q explained. "Ceremonial, or high magic, was done by rich men, like John Dee. A kitchen witch with herbal tinctures was a last resort, or for the poor. Mostly female..."

"You read about magic?" Bond raised an eyebrow.

"Well doesn't every teenager?" Q asked. "How to make your true love appear, how to make a sick pet heal, how to find... A family," he looked away.

Bond's gaze softened at that as he placed a hand on Q's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I've never really thought about those myself... but I know you'll find a family of your own one day." He smiled gently. "You're a good man, Q."

"Someday maybe. I'm not holding my breath," Q shook his head. "Silly wishes anyway, my life is no worse than someone else's."

"Wishing for a family is nothing silly," Bond stated firmly. "Especially when you're so young. You only need to start worrying about a little when you're about my age." The man laughed softly. "But well, like you, I'm not holding my breath for that either."

"There's no one waiting for you back in London?" Q asked quietly. "I figured someone as nice as you must have someone."

"I'm no nice man," Bond replied with a small smile. "But no, other than a few colleagues, I don't have anyone." 

 

"That's a shame," Q frowned. "I've been thinking about getting a cat or something, make the house less lonely."

"You should," Bond nodded. "I'm away most of the time, so I don't have pets per default. Leaving them alone and waiting is almost as cruel as abandoning them."

"Oh, well I don't go anywhere," Q sighed wistfully. "I always wanted a cat or dog. I don't think I'm mobile enough to walk a dog right now. Maybe when the rainy weather ends and i can start taking longer walks."

"It's because I'm always traveling to place or another that makes me dread retirement a little. I won't really have anything to fill up the day." He was taking down some more books from the higher shelves. "And no one is mobile enough to walk with all that mud outside right now," Bond said, eyeing the still pouring rain outside the grimy windows. They really needed to clean those up soon. "Wait until it lets up, then I can join you on your walk."

"That sounds good... wait, let me see that one?" Q pointed at a musty, water stained book.

Blinking, Bond handed that over, not really able to make out the faded words on the cover. "What is it?"

"I don't read French... let me google it..." Q shrugged. "Some book of magic about a red dragon... oh fuck," he looked up, face white. "This is a famous grimoire, thought to be used to summon the devil."

"Okay," Bond plucked the book away from Q's hands. "Best not to touch it then."

"Who would even want to try that?" Q shivered. "What would drive you to summon the devil himself?"

"Absolute vengeance that you know you can't resolve on your own?" Bond offered, his eyes looking closely at the book. 

 

"I suppose," Q said doubtfully. "I suppose it would have to be someone irrational that would turn to that in the first place. I'll stick to herbs under my pillow and love spells, thanks."

"Love spells," Bond chuckled. "I think you're lovely enough without needing those."

"I'd have to leave the house," Q said ruefully. "So far that hasn't happened much, and the construction workers who have come all have families. I did manage to have a few dates in London before the accident, but I've always been painfully shy."

"You'll get there once you've recovered enough." Bond smiled. "I'm sure of it."

"Sure, easy for you to say," Q scoffed. "I look like David Tennant's dorky brother, and you look like a male escort. Holy-" he dropped the next book. "I think this is another original," he thumbed through the parchment manuscript of the "Grimoire of Pope Honorius".

"Male escort?" Bond laughed. "Hardly." Right then, he didn't really care about whether that book was the original manuscript of anything or not, just that Q was not really seeing what he saw here. 

 

"You look like a very attractive young man to me," Bond said, reaching out to tilt Q's face up to look at him. 

 

"No, me?" Q looked up and blushed red. "I'm really not."

 

"Each to his own," Bond said. "Because I really think you are good-looking. And those photos don't lie either." He smiled softly.

 

"You did something to those," Q laughed, bending away to pick up another book.

 

"Never did," Bond raised up his hands. "Cross my heart. You can look at the original photos in the camera later on."

 

"But still... Someone like you, think I'm handsome? Never!" Q frowned. "People like you beat me up in secondary school."

 

"People like  _ me _ ?" Bond raised an eyebrow. "What categories are you specifying me into?" 

 

"Handsome, popular, athletic, rich..." Q said hesitantly. "I got dunked in the loo by the footie team because I wouldn't do their homework."

 

"Those who do that should be categorized as douchebags with no life of their own," Bond murmured with a sigh. 

 

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude to you," Q said softly. "I've just had a lot of people take the piss with me to get me to do things."

 

"You weren't rude," Bond shook his head. "But you're more good looking than you give yourself credit for, and I'm not just saying this because you're letting me stay here for the time being."

 

"It's very new for me to hear that," Q muttered.

 

"I'm not lying or flattering though," Bond said gently. "I have no reason to be." He offered Q a small smile.

 

"Thank you," Q blushed. "I'm glad you think so."

 

"It's the truth," Bond said as he went up the ladder to gather more books down.

 

"Whatever you say," Q smiled and put the stack down on the floor. "The Lesser Key of Solomon, well now we're only summoning demons," he sighed.

 

"Let's label the categories these will be in as, 'On days you feel like cursing someone'"

 

"And to think I just flip them off," Q burst into laughter. "I don't know anyone worth summoning demons."

 

"You should think it in terms of if anyone is worth selling your soul to a demon over," Bond chuckled. 

 

"Definitely not," Q laughed. "And I've certainly never had sex worth it."

 

Bond hummed. "You haven't met the right person then," he said. "Someone who cherishes you, not just the sex."

 

Q choked and turned red. "Yes well, hardly any fear of that."

 

Bond smiled. "Meeting the right person is an exhilarating thing... just make sure to give your heart out to someone who wouldn't throw it away." His voice softened by the end as he reached up the higher shelves for more books.

 

Q nodded and took the next stack. "Homeopathic remedies, herbal tinctures, well slightly less alarming reading. So why are you single then?" He peered at James through his glasses.

 

Subtle as a flying rock, Bond thought to himself with a soft smile. "Because someone took my heart and threw it into a canal?" He laughed.

 

"A canal?" Q frowned. "Rather rude of them. No one seems to know how to end a relationship without being vindictive and petty."

 

"She died there anyway, so..." Bond shrugged, setting more books down before setting up the stairs again.

 

"Oh... I'm so sorry," Q stopped, mouth open. "That's awful. I'll shut up now."

 

Bond shook his head. "It's okay," he reassured with a small smile. "It's a long time ago already."

 

Q kept quiet and sorted the books into piles, one on lost gospels, one on prophecies, one on miracles, and the last on reincarnated gods.

 

Reincarnation seemed to be one of those recurring themes. Bond thought to himself as he picked up a book. That was more of a Buddhism sort of thinking... there was even one about soulmates, too, and cursed ones also, interestingly enough. Soul mates, who were intrinsically linked together, would keep meeting again and again, one way or another, even as they re-incarnated and lived different lives under different forms. Cursed ones were the same, except for the sole fact that some were said to have been cursed with dark magic to always end up dying a relative time after finally encountering each other.

 

Frowning, Bond took in a breath to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "More tea?" he asked Q.

 

Q nodded, brushing away a tear as he read the journal before the Doctor's. "This young man held his lover as they died of influenza, no mention of their name."

 

"That's unfortunate," Bond murmured, his mind making an odd connection between what he had just read and the pieces of what they had found so far, and the man waved it away. "Come on. Time to rest a little." He plucked the book away gently. 

 

"I've only been reading and drinking tea," Q protested half heartedly, but followed him over to the fire, hands stiff. "That does feel good," he allowed.

 

"Reading journals of people more or less recording their deaths," Bond muttered. "Rest a little. I'll get us more tea."

 

Q nodded, already flipping through the previous writer's volumes.

 

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Bond chuckled in amusement, shaking his head and turning away to head to the kitchen.

 

By the time James came back, Q was flipping through another volume for names and dates.

_ "Daniel Ryan, died at the ripe old age of thirty seven, no physical cause discernable. However, his younger lover had been found out, and forcibly sent to America to marry." _

 

"They really wanted those two apart then," Bond muttered, setting Q's mug down in front of him. "Was the forced marriage before or after Ryan's death, though?" Bond couldn't help but ask.

 

"A few months before," Q wrapped his hands around the mug and shivered. "Louis was sent to America... Because his father found a suitable bride!"

 

A gay couple, then... Considering the time period they were in, the tragedy turned out to be a grim, expected occurrence. "I'm starting to see sort of a theme here," Bond muttered, trying to shoo away that thought about reincarnation that he had just read again. 

 

"Were they all gay? All the men who owned this house?" Q asked softly. "They all died with a broken heart. There isn't a single happy ending here."

 

"We'll only be sure if we go through all the journals," Bond murmured with a sigh. "Maybe there are other instances that we aren't aware of yet." 

 

"Maybe I should go back to London with you, and chalk this all up to too good to be true," Q said. "Forget the mystery and let it find someone else."

 

"Yes. My offer still stands," Bond said with a small smile, quiet for a moment before he quietly continued, "But something tells me that you're just a little fascinated with where this all leads to to just let it go like that." 

 

"I might bring the journals with me," Q admitted. "But maybe it's already too late."

 

Somehow, the sound of that phrase had Bond straighten up. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Too late for what?" 

 

"Too late to stop my own death?" Q curled his arms around his knees. "Is it all decided already, that the moment I call in love my death sentence is written?"

 

"I don't believe in having anyone else, or some sort of so-called higher power, decide how my life should go," Bond said. "Whether you choose to stay here or not, there's no reason why you should die just because you happen to fall in love... Love shouldn't equal death." 

 

"It just seems sort of hopeless," Q frowned. "I'm the next in line and I can't figure out why. I came here because there were no other options."

 

"Shh..." Bond reached out, holding onto Q's bony elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Get your stuff together. We're leaving once it clears up, okay?"

 

"Alright, I don't have much," Q said. "A suitcase of clothes, some sheet music, and a box of sketch books and art supplies. I'll find a box for the journals as well. Maybe we can stop in town on the way back to London."

 

Bond nodded, ignoring the slight chills running up his spine. "I'll help you with that."

 

"I'm still not sure how you managed to get lost out here, but I'm glad," Q said, leaning against James.

 

"Not lost, specifically," Bond said, not withdrawing from Q leaning against him. "I just couldn't go back down the mountain with how hard it was raining without putting the car engine at risk."

 

"Well either way, my gain," Q smiled and touched James's hand hesitantly, skin pale against the blond.

 

Bond smiled himself, watching Q's hand brushing against his own. "It's good that you see it as such." He winked. 

 

"James..." Q licked his lips, and blushed. "Can I kiss you again?"

 

Bond observed Q, the flush tinging his cheeks, and said, "If you want to." 

 

"Do you... want me to?"

 

"I do," Bond said after a moment. "You're gorgeous after all." He smiled.

 

Q  leaned in closer and pressed a soft kiss against James's lips, trying not to stare and be awkward. He finally sighed and closed his eyes, lying his forehead against James's. 

 

Smiling softly, James leaned in himself and stole another kiss from Q's lips, sucking at them gently, before pulling away. 

 

Q sighed and opened his eyes, staring at James through kiss fogged glasses. "That was nice," he whispered.

 

James chuckled softly, stroking Q's cheek softly. "That's good to hear."

 

"I'd been wanting to try that," Q admitted softly, leaning into the touch.

 

James smiled and said, "Let's go gather your things first now."

 

Gabriel nodded and stood, reaching out a hand for James. There was a loud crack of thunder, and the lights went out, the only glow coming from the fireplace embers. "Well, that hasn't happened before," he frowned. "But I did see candles in the kitchen."

 

Bond reached for Q's hand, squeezing it. "Let's go find them then."

 

Q turned on the flashlight on his phone and guided them to the kitchen. He found the candles and matches in a drawer, and lit several and stuck them on a plate. "That will work for now," he said.

 

Bond nodded, looking around the dim room, the light of the candle not far reaching enough to illuminate every corner, giving the air a slightly oppressive feel. "Any generator around?" 

 

"There's one out in the shed, but I couldn't get it to start," Q frowned. "This is fine for now, the stove is gas."

  
"Yes, but the rest of the house is rather cluttered, and I don't to risk any of us falling at some unfortunate spot." Thunder clapped again outside, and Bond raised an eyebrow. "Where's the shed?" 


	5. Chapter 5

"Outside the atrium, there's a door leading out there. Let me find my garden wellies in the mud room and I'll show you," Q said.

 

"No," Bond said. "I can navigate myself. Don't go out there." If it had been muddy before, Bond really couldn't imagine how it was out there right then.

 

"I'll just wait near the door," Q said quickly. "I'd really rather not be alone. Maybe reading those journals was a bad idea," he shivered. "At first I thought the place was benevolent, but now it feels sinister."

 

Bond nodded, subconsciously and protectively pulling Q closer. "Do you have a raincoat with you, then? It's best not to get wet." 

 

"There is a bunch of stuff in the mud room, we can find you something as well," he led James to the covered porch off the kitchen. "The one bloody time I'd love for the house magic to work, its black as night."

 

"Just hold on to me," Bond said, pulling Q close. "I'll lead."

 

Q nodded and fumbled around till he found a jacket and umbrella. "Can you hold the candles here? There's a pile of wellies and I'd rather not choose the one with the spider nest," he admitted with a shiver.

 

Bond made a face, "Let's choose carefully then." They began sorting through the wellies.

 

"I think this pair will work, if you check for spiders?" Q said.

 

"Are you afraid of spiders?" Bond asked quietly, lifting them up and checking. "No spider." He smiled. 

 

"I prefer to view them in nature, rather than near my toes," Q shuddered. "Last time I was bit I had to get shots."

 

"Ouch," Bond muttered with a shuddered. "That is bad." 

 

He gave the wellies a few more pats before putting them on. "Okay, light up the way for me, okay?" He smiled at Q.

 

"Here we go," Q fished in his pocket for his phone. "The battery should just about last for this, I forgot to charge it last night."

 

"It's okay," Bond said, shrugging on the raincoat as he took the torch from Q's hand. "You only need to be the beacon that leads me back." He winked with a grin. "I'll light up the rest on my own."

 

"Be careful," Q said, trying to stifle a large smile. "There's plenty of firewood and tea when you're done."

"Good," Bond nodded. "Something worth looking forward to then." And he opened the door after pushing Q back a pace; large gales blew in, bringing along cold, piercing rain. 

 

"I'll be back!" Bond said loudly through the torrent and closed the door.

 

Gabriel pressed his face to the glass and waited, but all he could see was the rain sloughing off the window panes. He shivered and went back to the kitchen to light the stove for more tea, and then returned to his post.

 

Bond eventually found the shed after a bit of running through heavy mud and pushed inside, shining the torch to find his way to the generator. It was old and rusty, and Bond cursed a little before plunging into trying to get it to work. 

 

Q sat and waited, occupying his time with a mental recheck of the timeline of the journals. If his idea was right, and each house owner was gay... Then the original owners of the current house had been given the property because of their son, unlike what the parents believed.

 

Bond hissed as a spark zapped up his hand. The tools he found around were a little old themselves, but nothing he could handle. And when finesse didn't work, he turned to brute force. just powering through the dried up oils in the bolts, until he started to try and turn the engine back on again. It whirred for a second or two, humming a sound of a mechanics being left in disuse, before coming to life.

 

The house light up again from where he could see through the cracks in the shed, and Bond took off his rain coat to make a makeshift cover for the generator, then grabbed the torch to run out into the rain once more.  

 

"Hurry up," Q yelled above the wind, opening the door. "Brilliant, I didn't think it was possible to get that heap of metal working again," he wiped his glasses and  handed James a dry towel.

The wind blew the door straight out of Q's grip, slamming it against the wall. Bond grunted and pushed it close, the glasses rattling a little in the strong gales. 

 

Once the rain stopped spattering into his face as the door was in place, the man let out a sigh. "Well, just need a bit of encouragement." He laughed, reaching for the now somewhat damp towel, quickly drying himself down. 

 

"Some hot tea and soup are in order, and dry clothes for you," Q gave him a kiss on the nose. "Oy, you're freezing. Go change and come sit in front of the fire," he laughed, smiling up at the blue eyes.

Blinking at the kiss, since such small gestures of affection had long since lost on him, Bond smiled a little before he nodded. "I'll jog up to change real quick," he said, already turning away and heading up stairs. 

 

Q laid a tray and brought it into the library, grilled cheese, soup, and tea. He flipped through one of the journals, sweater riding up so the fire would hit his back.

Bond had pulled on a comfortable jumper to cover himself from the cold and changed into loose slacks as well as he went downstairs, heading to the library once he made sure that the kitchen was unoccupied and the atrium's light wasn't on. 

 

"You're still at it?" he asked, watching as Q sat, reading still, in front of the fire.

"Yes, just trying to find a common thread," Q said thoughtfully. "All younger men, all died early, all lived here... Sorry, just thinking out loud. The ones I've read so far all lost a great love. Listen to this one:

_ 'I've found out that Peter is being sent away to India, to learn trading. His father has secured him a position with the East India company, in hopes that it will make him more responsible. With my health it's not possible to go, even as his servant. The best I can do is wait here and hope that he survives both the journey and the time away, although I have heard India is a harsh place.'  _ "

Bond settled back and listened to the sad tale, nodding as he did so. The embers were crackling in the hearth, and the man sighed at the gentle heat, his eyes flickering around the library that they had partly taken down... until it settled onto Q's exposed lower back. 

 

"That mark," he breathed, eyes a little wide as he straightened up almost immediately, fingers softly tracing along the horns-like mark that was a soft imprint against the younger man's pale skin. "Where did you—... How...?" 

 

"Oh, my back? It's a birthmark, been there since I was born," Q pulled his shirt down self consciously. "It's even gotten bigger over the years."

 

"I..." Bond blinked rapidly, licked his lips, and pulled down the side of his slacks a little, exposing his hips. "I have the same birthmark... right here..." What was the meaning of this? Anything else could be coincidences, but a birthmark? How could two look this similar if not the same?

 

"And you've always had it?" Q shivered. "But... Isn't that impossible?"

"I've always had it," Bond murmured quietly before taking in a breath and covering the mark up once more. "And I don't know, Q... There's definitely something going on that we don't know of..." That reincarnation thing was swirling inside his mind again, and with a frown, Bond stood to look for that specific book before settling down to flip through it once more.

"What do you think it means?" Q asked. "So you it wasn't an accident that you came here in the storm, or that I got the house..."

Bond shook his head. "The fact that you got the house was probably not an accident..." he skimmed through the pages as fast as he could. "The fact that I got here... I don't know..." He turned to look at Q, their faces framed in the golden hue from the fire burning in the nearby hearth. "It was supposed to be an accident, that I happened to see this house while trying to find a place to get out of the rain..." 

 

But he didn't know anymore... not after the birthmark, no.

"Well if it was meant to be, why? Why do we have matching marks?" Q asked.

"I don't know, Q," Bond muttered absently, too focused on the book at hand, until he froze and handed the book over to share with the younger man. 

 

_ "Lovers who are reincarnated through lives are referred to as soulmates and may sometimes share similar markings—a scar, or most commonly a birthmark—with one another." _

"Are we- I mean... We aren't. Were we?" Q looked up at him, eyes wide. "Wouldn't we remember each other?"

 

Sighing, Bond closed the book. "I'm not sure. We have no evidence that the books here provide genuine information anyway." The birthmarks swirled in his mind again, but he swatted it away. 

"Well so far everything has defied rational explanation," Q said. "Let's assume the books are correct for a minute, and the birthmarks connect us. So we are... Reincarnated? We have unfinished business? Who were we that we were so important?"

Bond sighed, leaning back and looking at Q. "Well... you did somehow receive this house," he said quietly. "Much like how the other owners seemed to have not been from a long line of some family also." 

"So we need to start with the town records...?" Q looked down at his notes. "If we assume all the lovers spoken of in the letters are men, then these are probably men who didn't have close family ties. They would have been outcasts."

They would have been outcasts anyway if people were to find out about the sort of homosexual relationship that they had. Bond nodded. "Tomorrow maybe, if the weather permits it." 

"That begs the question of the family that had the house built for them," Q said thoughtfully. "Was it for the boy?"

"Maybe. But we also have to consider the fact that the villagers said the family was keeping them safe." 

"Keeping them safe... And it had something to do with the son, but he didn't know," Q sighed. "What could I possibly protect people from?"

It was questions after questions, but they had too few answer and little coherent information to go right from the beginning, and everything seemed to be leading to something rather removed from the usual 'norm'. "Let's note down the questions," he said, taking out his notebook and turning it to be back before starting to quickly whatever they had found down. 

"How does the last journal end? What else does he say?" Q asked. "Did his mother ever explain it?"

"I haven't finished reading through it," Bond murmured, standing up to make a grab for the journal before returning. It was old already, that journal, dating back to the nineteenth century as it was, and some of the latter parts were rather smudged from dampness. 

"I hope it's readable," Q murmured, curling into Bond's side.

Turning to look at him, Bond paused before smiling as he turned the pages, notebook and pen still wedged in one hand. They tried to decipher the blurred words, some successfully, some not so much. But in the end, something did come out of it. 

 

"He said," Bond murmured, pointing to a paragraph, "that their family turned out to be one of the sacred protector of the integrity of the land. That their job was to keep the main magical veins intact and undisturbed, in return, the people that resided in the place would receive relative peace. However, if someone tried to invade further in without informing the protector... this may cause great trouble and unease." 

"Protector?" Q laughed nervously. "I think it's a far cry from wishing my skin to clear to being a protector of the land. But that sounds like... Ley lines? The way magic flows around the earth."

"Well, we're not sure what method of protecting he's referring to here," Bond said slowly. "And I think so... He said that the house is built on one of the major intersections between the veins." The man paused. "Well, that explains the strong occurrences."

 

"So... We are, conduits?" Q asked thoughtfully. "We amplify what is already there."

 

"I think it's probably more you than me," Bond said. "Since you inherited the house, and I just happened to stumble upon it later on."

"But you amplify it, it requires us both," Q said. "Or at least it's stronger with both of us. Which isn't surprising, magic is all about balance, two opposites that balance each other."

Bond hummed and nodded. That was rather reasonable, he supposed. "But... does that mean that we'll have the same fate like the rest of those who had inherited the place?"

"God, I hope not," Q shivered. "We need to figure out what they did wrong. In what I've read so far, tragedy only happened when the couples were far apart. But is it that simple?"

"I'm not sure either," Bond murmured. This was getting a little worrisome. 

 

"So we don't travel alone," Q said. "We play it safe. Even if we don't fulfill all the requirements."

 

"What are the requirements even... Everything is so... vague." Bond sighed.

"Well, first and foremost, a couple. Or at least two people in love," Q added, "male from what I've read so far. One older, and a younger one who lives in the house."

 

Were those all the 'requirements' though? It was difficult to say, and Bond nodded absently, thoughts swirling in his mind. "All right. Maybe it's time we take a break from these books."

 

"Alright, what's next?" Q stood and stretched, shaking the hair out of his eyes. "Can I see your mark again?"

 

Bond watched him and nodded, standing down to pull the side of his slacks down once more to expose his birthmark.

 

"It... It's exactly the same," Q whispered. "Same color, same size... I've never seen another one like it."

 

"Neither have I," Bond breathed, feeling Q's eyes on his skin as he pulled the waistband up. This was by far one of the most bizarre things he had ever experienced. 

"Does it..." Q licked his lips. "Mine is... I notice it when you're close. It feels warm."

"It does feel warm..." Bond said, feeling it a little. "But I only ever thought of it as me being a little heat sensitive because of the cold rain."

"No... Feel?" Gabriel lifted his sweater up and turned.

Bond raised his hand and pressed it gently against the birthmark on Q's lower back. "It is warm," he whispered. 

 

Q shivered under his hand and tried to slow his breaths. "It feels incredible."

"It does?" Bond whispered, the pads of his fingers moving somewhat over Q's warm skin, pressing in just a little.

Q bit his lip but didn't quite manage to hide the moan. "Yes. If you want to feel?"

Something like a gentle heat radiated softly from Bond's hip, right where the mark was, and watching Q this closely suddenly made his throat that tad bit tight for whatever reason. "Sure," he murmured. 

 

Q licked his lips and ran his thumb over the soft mark. He could feel the raised edges, just like his own, and he almost expected to feel the touch on his own skin. He watched James, eyes dark.

Bond shivered. It truly was a surprisingly erotic feeling, but what was breathless about it was the way how Q was looking at him right then, pupils blown and face flushed, lips glistening in the flickering fire. 

 

"Shit, Q," he cursed, pulling the other man into a kiss.

Q gave everything he had into the kiss, stomach clenching in a bundle of nerves. He skin lit up as James touched him, every spot becoming as sensitive as the mark. A couple of fumbles with boys at uni hadn't let him prepared for this, a feeling like he was drowning under the onslaught of James's kiss, but not able to breathe without it.

It was definitely not something Bond had ever felt before, his nerve ends firing as they kissed. Sucking on those red, red lips, the man moved his hands up to cup Q's face, feeling along the strong jawline, fingertips slipping into his hairline as the kiss deepened and Bond pressed their bodies together.

"James..." Q managed. "Does it... is it supposed to be like this?" He pulled James as close as he could get him, his heart thudding in his chest. "I don't... It never was like this."

Bond smiled at the fluster in Q's voice, finding it endearing. "I told you you needed to find the right person," he whispered, leaning their foreheads together. "But I've never felt it this intense either," he admitted, feeling their quicken pulses so close... almost matching to each other's pace—it was a dizzying feeling.

"What... how far are we going to take this?" Q asked, hands fumbling at the buttons on James's wrists. He slid his hands under the cloth and shivered at the deceptively soft skin, hiding wiry muscles.

Bond let out a soft breath, watching Q, his hands holding onto the younger man's forearms, too. "How far do you want it to go, is the question," he said, voice low. "I never lied when I said you were gorgeous. You are." 

 

Q blushed and averted his gaze, turning away from James. "Not like you, though. You're... you're like a bloody movie. I'm just a guy that draws. But being I've won the lottery... well I suppose I should take advantage?" he asked bravely.

"Every bloody movie has its own time, Q," Bond chuckled. "I'm getting old myself, and I'm not sure how much of a lottery I am." He brushed a hand over Q's cheek, brushing over the luscious locks of hair. "But yes, I'd love for you to take full advantage, too." Briefly, he captured Q's lips once more.

"I'd like that," Q said quietly, leaning into the hand in his hair. "But... your bed? In front of the fire? Oh... probably mine, there's lube-" Q leaned back into James for another kiss. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling."

"I don't mind," Bond smiled. "Back to yours then. I didn't really prepare for an intimate encounter when I packed." He placed a hand on the small of Q's back. "Shall we, then?"

"Yes, god..." Q burst into laughter. "I feel like a teenager sneaking around, lord," he took James's hand and led him up the stairs. The sky was still dark outside, so he flicked on the hallway lights. When they got to his bedroom, however, there were trays of candles lit, and a fire burning. The sheets were turned down, and there were towels on the nightstand. 

 

"Oh... I suppose the ghosts are pleased," Q smiled.

Bond wasn't sure what he felt about this after all the things they had just read, but pragmatic as he was, he chalked it off as being convenient before pulling Q into a fierce kiss that barely quenched the hunger in his veins.

"Well since everyone approves..." Q said against James's mouth. "Can I undress you?"

"Wouldn't have come up here if I couldn't agree to that much," Bond smiled, nibbling along Q's neck, breathing in the scent of tea and old books, of wood and rains. It was a pleasant scent. Warm. "Can I undress you?" he asked quietly, knowing how subconscious Q was about his own self.

"Um, sure," Q slipped off his shoes and start on James's buttons, focusing on the skin revealed by each, touching with his fingers, reading the Braille of James's scars.

Bond did the same, gradually removing each article of clothing from Q's body, mapping out the scars also that blemished the otherwise smooth, pale skin. It was a sad thing that such a horrible accident had occurred, and to a gentle person such as Q himself, also...

"I'm sorry, I know they're bad," Q kept his head down. "It's alright, if you want to stop."

Bond shook his head. "It's bad that the accident happens to you," he said, voice gentle but firm. "But your body is perfectly fine to me. The scarring doesn't mind me, I have a fair share of it myself." 

 

He traced a hand down along Q's jaw. "Look at me."

 

Q looked at him shyly through long eye lashes, hesitant to meet James's gaze and see the revulsion and rejection he'd seen in the past.

 

There was none of that there, and James of kissing Q's lips once more, ever so softly. "My claim still stands," he murmured. "You're gorgeous." 

 

"Thank you," Q said, daring a look at James. He ran a hand down James's chest and touched the warm skin of the mark on his hip. "Its hums," he said.

 

Scars of bullet wounds, of gashes and tearing and punctures, littered the man's body, some a little more scary-looking than others. Bond was neither proud nor ashamed of them, however, and he was determined somehow to make Q feel better about his own self-image. 

 

"It does," he agreed, his hand tracing Q's body, too, trailing over the scars before pressing a gentle kiss to each one. "Is it okay?" he whispered. 

 

"Yes," Q blinked to clear his vision and realized there were tears pooling in his eyes.

 

"Shh," Bond hushed softly as he gradually led them over to the bed and set Q down. "You are beautiful. Let me worship your body." And with that he resumed kissing each scar, all testaments of a battle for his life that Q had won and a battle for rehabilitation that he struggled with still. 

 

"James," Q whispered, running his hands down the sculpted shoulders with artist's hands. "James..."

 

Bond hummed, leaning up to capture those lips once more. 

 

Q finally gave himself wholly into the kiss, grabbing for James with empty arms that suddenly ached.

 

Bond held onto to Q, deepening the kiss, beckoning those lips to open for him with the gentle caresses of his tongue. 

 

And Q opened to him, hungry like he'd never been touched before. He held on to James, tongue brushing at his lips, begging for a taste.

 

Bond's tongue slipped inside gladly, tasting the lingering touch of tea, of spices and herbs, and it was a strangely intoxicating taste. Bond nearly drowned in it as he moaned, holding onto Q.

  
"Take me to bed," Q begged between kisses, his hands around James's neck. "Please."


	6. Chapter 6

With a gentle motion, Bond lay Q down onto the bed, lips trailing kisses down along the column of his neck. 

 

Q kept a tight hold on him, fingers tight in the spiky blond hair. He pressed kisses to James's forehead and stroked at the shoulders, pressing back against him.

 

Bond broke away, peppering kisses all over as he bit softly on Q's clavicle, one hand slipping under the small of Q's back, somehow sliding just right over where the birthmark was, thrumming still and almost hot to the touch now. 

 

Q dug his fingers into the mark on James's hip with a cry, trying to find his breath as James's touch drove him crazy.

 

James hissed, the passion consuming him quicker than anything before, and he found himself, ever reckless, plunging straight into it. But unlike any other time, the sensation brought no adrenaline rush of anticipation, just an odd sense of ease and calm as he closed his eyes.

 

Like he was finally where he was supposed to be. 

 

He drank all of Q's creation like a sweet nectar, and told himself to breathe, grinding their bodies together as he surged up to claim those glistening, soft lips once more. 

 

"Please," Q begged. "Touch me. It burns," he knew it didn't make any sense, the pleading, but he wanted more. The slide of the cool sheets was torture.

 

"Shh," James soothed, feverish himself as he pressed their bodies closer, hands roaming along the canvas of Q's planes, sucking and biting and pinching until they both were breathless and aching with desires. "Lube?" he asked, straightening up, voice low and rough.

 

"Bedside stand," Q managed, rolling onto his stomach. He pulled James closer once he'd found the lube, so he was flush against him.

 

James did manage to reach for it along with the condoms as he held on and breathed in Q's scent. "Condom?" he whispered, taking a generous amount of lube to rub between his fingers before sliding them teasingly down Q's cleft, circling his entrance.

 

"Um... I didn't think I'd need those up here alone," Q admitted. "But I'm clean, I've been tested since the accident."

 

"I'm clean, too," James breathed, pushing a digit in, keeping it there without moving it yet. 

 

"Then quit... Dawdling!" Q nearly shouted, before looking chagrined. "I'm sorry. I'm just ... Eager."

 

James chuckled. "It's okay... I only wanted to make sure you'll be okay with going bareback." He kissed Q's shoulders, sliding his finger in deeper. 

 

"You're not exactly a one night stand, we have matching marks," Q reminded. "I doubt we can be apart."

 

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't give you that choice, though," he kissed Q's jaw, mouthing the earlobe, his finger sliding in and out, wiggling and crooking a little whenever it was inside.

 

"It's good," Q managed, pressing against James. He tilted his head back, searching for James's mouth for a kiss.

 

James met it squarely with a grunt as he slipped a second finger in carefully, scissoring them together inside of Q, searching for that one sweet spot even as he stretched the younger man out. 

 

Q convulsed against him with a cry as James found his prostate, trying not to come just yet. "You'll make me come before you get inside me," he warned.

 

Chuckling, James's palm slid down over Q's lower back, just over his mark before going down all the way to cup those rosy arsecheeks. "I need to prepare you well though," he said with a soft grunt. "Don't want to hurt you."

 

"Well you'll have plenty of time if you make me come," Q pointed out. "Just a bit faster, please."

 

It was just the sort of pushiness that he appreciated and James kissed Q's mark, his fingers moving in and out a few times more before pulling out completely as the man lubricated his own erection with a shuddering breath and positioned himself. "Ready?" 

 

"As I'll ever be," Q breathed. But nothing could have prepared him for the sheer heat, the wave of arousal that left him dizzy with want, clutching at James's fingers on his hips.

 

James nodded and started to push inside gradually, the tight gripping heat of Q making him bite back a gasp. 

 

"James..." images flashed through Q's head, the blond getting on an old sailing ship, the blond's marriage, the pain of watching from the back of the church. "Can you see them?"

 

James hissed, the pain in his throat was just a tinge to being a little too painful as he held onto Q. The pain of parting with a brunette at a ship dock, of hidden fumbles and nervous kisses in the dark, of not even having the courage to hold each other in public, of watching through the crowd of people attending the wedding and catching that familiar face all the way in the back, such exquisite pain in those grey-green eyes. 

 

Of never having the chance to soothe those tears away again. 

 

Of holding him as he took his last breath, of pretending to smile and stoic and harsh and cold to drive the other away. 

 

His breath stuttered, and James tried to breathe. "Quentin..." 

 

"James, you won't leave this time? Promise me?" Q begged, tears falling unheeded. "Can I turn over?" He snuffled into the pillow and gripped at James's hands. "Please? I need to see you."

 

Society had been against them. Time had been against them. Even Fate had been against them, too. How cruel... 

 

James pulled out, helping Quentin turn over, latching onto his lips the moment he found them, gasping and nearly shaking with the onslaught of pain that shouldn't be his own, but so close... close enough that he felt like it was breaking his heart. 

 

His hand brushed at tears on those pale cheeks, and he groaned. "Please don't cry," he whispered reverently, almost like a prayer. "Please... please don't cry over me anymore..." 

 

"But can I have you this time, or will it happen again?" Q asked helplessly. "Now  I understand why the grimoires, the spells. It wasn't revenge, James. It was to keep you."

 

If even summoning demons didn't help, James didn't know what would. "I'm someone so good for you to risk all those things, Quentin..." Couldn't Quentin move on from him and just live a better, more peaceful life? A life not plagued with pains, fears, with separations, and deaths. 

 

Deaths. 

 

It was just a familiar question that it felt as though he had been contemplating it for years and year on end... not occurring just now, just at that moment. 

 

"But you're the other half of me," Q said softly. "I'm not all of me without you to love me. Alone, I'm only lost. With you, we have a future together. Alone, I have a limited number of days, whether it's illness, fire, injury, or death."

 

"I held you when you died, too, Quentin... We were together then..." The pain of losing someone, right within grasp, was just too bright and close and unyielding that it nearly choked him. "I couldn't even protect you... You still died... What do I do?"

 

"I don't know," Q admitted. "Just hold on to me, so you don't disappear again. What if... What if we have to be public, announce our relationship? It's not a weapon if it's not a secret."

 

"If we had gone public, we would have died anyway back in those days..." James whispered. "Would that really be it? Would that really be all it takes?" He gathered Q close, their hearts beating almost the same pace again. 

 

"I don't know," Q said helplessly, a forlorn tone to his voice as he mouthed hungrily at James's lips. "I only know that secrets only have power as long as they are secrets, so it stands to reason that there is something to it."

 

"Okay," James breathed, leaning into those kisses, holding onto Q. "Let's try that first..." Time... what they needed was time. And a way to break this cursed cycle. 

 

"So what do we do, announce our relationship on Facebook? Publish bans in the newspaper?" Q asked. "What's the modern equivalent?"

 

James chuckled softly. "I think we just need to kiss in front of other people, and they'll get the picture." He leaned in and demonstrated just what sort of kiss he had in mind. 

 

"James..." Q murmured. "In town tomorrow then, weather permitting. But you're not to make me come in my pants."

 

"Oh no, that pleasure is reserved for me alone," James moaned, nipping at Q's throat, a surge of protectiveness seizing his chest. "No one else."  

 

"Yes," Q moaned at the way James was wrapped around him, as if he were consuming and sheltering him in equal measures. "But for now, I want to come with you inside me," he murmured as James mouthed at him.

"With pleasure," James murmured, not really able to think of much else right then but them, the incredible longing was clutching too tightly at his throat. 

 

He held onto Q's hips, feeling the jutting hipbones, and began to push inside again, Q's insides hot enough that it was almost intoxicating just how the muscles were flexing. 

 

Q scrambled for purchase on the sweat slicked skin, cock weeping precum on his belly. He moaned softly, groin aching from the strain of holding his orgasm until James was ready.

 

James was so close already, it was almost embarrassing. Given the emotional stress right then though, James supposed it was justifiable enough as he slide gradually into Q's tight, gripping heat. Stopping just a little at the girth, before pushing in all the way with a gasp. 

 

"This is going to be embarrassingly short," Q huffed, a drop of sweat tracing down his cheek. He reached up for James's mouth with a sigh.

 

"Doesn't matter," James grunted, rolling his hips and finding a strangely familiar rhythm between their thrumming bodies, angling it just so he was hitting Q's prostate. "We'll have more time later." 

 

And, from the bottom of his heart, he really hoped that to be true. 

 

"I want..." Q trailed off into a moan. "I want you, I want to wake up next to you, James. I want there to be a next time, a time when we're so used to each other that we know what each other like."

 

"I want to be able to hold you and protect you, Q," James breathed, kissing those red, red lips. "I want us to at least have some time, a chance... I want it so that we can just be together and live. No more fear." 

 

His hand slipped under Q, hitching his hips up a little while caressing the birthmark as well. 

 

Q came with a cry, the caress of James's fingers on the birthmark the catalyst. He gripped James's mark with his finger tips and squeezed around his lover with a cry, trying to hold back tears at the sweet words. 

 

James orgasmed as well, breathless and shuddering, his knee on the side where the mark was feeling almost numb as he buried his face into the crook of Q's neck, nosing at the thick, dark curls, holding on tightly still. 

 

Q pressed kisses to Bond's face and neck, awed by the reaction and beauty of his lover so uninhibited. "So handsome," he murmured, stroking the blond hair lovingly, eyes still shut.

 

James shivered, the praise running up his spine as he breathed. "You're gorgeous yourself," he murmured, kissing and nuzzling Q's cheek. 

 

Q made a soft sound and pulled James closer, palms around his hips. He slowly opened his eyes as he caught his breath and smiled at Bond. And the man returned the gesture, shivering in hypersensitivity as those hands brushed over his mark. He leaned in and kissed those lips. 

 

"James... James," Q murmured as he held him close. "Jamie..." he felt James slip out and the emptiness sent a stab of loss through him.

 

Bond recognized that name. "Shh..." he hushed. "It's okay... It's okay, Elliott... We have each other now..." His arms tightened around Q.

 

Something inside Q relaxed that he didn't know had been missing. "Jamie, love, touch me again, darling?" He attacked his mouth and rutted up against him, a memory of dewed grass beneath them and sheep grazing in the corner of his vision.

 

"The shepherd's hut, I came to see you..." he murmured. "We watched the sun rise, wrapped in your cloak."

 

Bond breathed, pulled their bodies pressed against one another. "I still remember the taste of your freshly baked breads," he murmured, warm kitchen and a lean figure, the smell of freshly made food... "So good to me." 

 

"I remember the fire in the morning, you waking me up with tea," Q smiled. "You always let me sleep, wouldn't let me wander around before dawn in case I couldn't see," he sighed and stretched under James, belly already sparking with arousal again.

 

"How could I let you wander about? It was to dark." James leaned in and kissed Q's forehead. "I remember watching you read under a tree... How you showed me how to read and write. Your parents weren't really happy about it..." He took those artist's hands up and kissed the fingers.

 

"You showed me how to make love, what my first kiss was like," Q's heart clenched in his chest. "I missed you, Jamie. You'll always have my heart."

 

"Really?" James breathed, the memories of Jamie hazy yet vivid in his mind... mostly about Q,  _ Elliot _ . "You didn't hate me?" he whispered. "Your father beat you for being with me..." It had been a horrible day... Elliot's father, the master of the house, had caught wind of the rumors that they were together, and it was when he was keeping such a close eye on them that he caught them kissing. 

 

He beat both Jamie and Elliot. But Jamie had only been a shepherd; physical abuse hadn't been the problem... it was seeing Elliott hurt that had stung more than anything. 

 

"Always... I promised," Q attacked him and kissed him. "Please... Jamie... touch me."

 

James kissed Q, kissed him hard, drowning himself into the feel of those soft lips as he groaned and pushed their bodies closer. 

 

"Jamie, is it still there?" Q searched his lover's face. "Our hut... Scotland, the Moors... Sky...fall? Is Skyfall still there?"

 

James shivered, his eyes widening. "It is..." he nodded. "It's still there. I..." Yes... yes, it was him. "I bought back that land... and built up a manor there." 

 

"Really?" Q asked, delight lighting up his face. "Just like you said, that you'd build us a manor to call our own? And we will be the masters of the place, fireplaces in the bedrooms, and a tea kettle in the bedroom?" He clung to James, fingers tangled in his hair. "Truly? We'll have a place of our own, where we can stay in bed and make love in the rain?"

 

James shivered, nodding. All their dreams, all the promises that had seemed too far away at the time they had been spoken... They had all come true, even if it had taken life times to achieve... subconsciously or not. "It's all ours now, Elliott. The moors, the lake... everything... I—I even had a statue of a deer made, placed right at the gate. Everything is ours now." He smiled, eyes actually stinging. 

 

"Really? Can we go?" Elliot smiled. "We can marry under a full moon, with a bonfire, and we'll spend the night in the shepherd's hut."

 

"Of course," James breathed, the thought of finally marrying Q, Elliott, swarmed his mind with almost unbearable warmth. "I've turned it into a hunting lodge... May need cleaning up a little. But yes, we can definitely go." 

 

"Big, soft beds? And I can't wait to wake up with you," Q practically squealed in delight. "After we check the town records, I don't care. Let's go to Skyfall."

 

"Let's," James agreed, grinning at the evident excitement. "I haven't been back in a long time... it'll be good to finally return with you." 

 

"When is the solstice?" Q asked curiously. "It's the full moon, we can plan a ceremony. Like we planned... so long ago. We can even invite other people."

 

"In a couple of weeks, I think," James mused aloud. "We'll confirm it later... How many guests do you think you'll invite?" 

 

"There's no one I need to invite," Q shook his head. "But I suppose we need someone to sign the license."

 

"You're alone?" James whispered. It was a sensitive subject, he supposed, but one he had already sort of guessed since a while back when he first heard about the accident and how Q came here to stay all by himself... no one else to take care of him. 

 

"Yes... there hasn't been anyone," Q shivered. "A few first dates before the accident, a couple of drunken fumbles in college. Nothing worth remembering, and certainly no one I'd want to invite to a wedding."

 

James nodded, holding Q closer. "No friends either?" he whispered. That sounded too lonely a life. 

 

"There were some mates at work that I went to the pub with, but then I got hurt," Q shook his head. "I couldn't drink after the accident with the pain meds, and once I moved all the way up here... well there's no one I wanted to invite."

"I see..." James breathed. "I only have one friend. He's coming... Other than that, probably my gatekeeper, Kincade, and his family. He's been there for so long now, looking after the land after I went away and didn't come back."

"Oh... I can invite Eve," Q said. "I can invite her. I'm long overdue to see her anyway, and I was going to have her visit here. But it would be much better in Scotland. The weather here is god awful."

"Eve?" James perked up at that, smiling a little. "But I agree. It's cold up there, but at least it doesn't rain constantly. Not this heavily." He pressed a kiss to Q's brows. 

 

"Yes, she's always wanted to go... take a long train ride across the UK," Q nodded. "This will give her an excuse," he kissed James soundly. "Now, I'd rather not talk about females while I'm covered in cum. Care for another round before we clean up?" he teased, cheekily.

James chuckled, and leaned into to began nipping at the side of Q's throat without preamble. "With pleasure," he purred.

"Trust me, the pleasure is mine," Q stifled a whine from his throat and arched against James. "Jamie... please."

 

James pulled him close until they were once again flush against one another. "What do you want me to do?" he asked fervently. 

 

"Touch me," Q gave a delicious shiver as his renewed hard on brushed against his lover's stomach. "Do you remember... you used to tell me that some day, some day, you'd touch me until I didn't have enough energy to be turned on anymore. I think you might have to go for awhile longer," he gasped as James brushed his calloused fingers over the head of his cock. 

 

James hummed, his newly lubricated hand stroking up and down and down along Q's cock, filling up so quickly in his hold as it was. "I remember... I used to tell you that one day, when we finally had all the time in the world, I'd keep touching you until you begged me to stop." He grinned, his other hand reaching up to flick over one of Q's nipples. "I'd be more than happy to see when I'll reach that point."

"Definitely not close to that," Q moaned softly, "I want to wake up in the morning, with you already touching me," he buried his fingers in James's hair, and reached his other hand down to press at the base of his cock, already too close to another orgasm. "I want to taste you, I want to watch you come, while I touch you," he blushed.

James moaned, Q's words gliding over his senses like honey, making him unbearably hard. "Q," he breathed, not sure of how to call his lover now. "Definitely that and more," he promised, turning his wrist as he pumped Q's cock.

"James, Jamie..." Q stumbled over the names as well, one blending seamlessly into another, with the two versions of his lover dancing before his eyes. He reached for James's cock, soft artist's fingers deft over the foreskin, and his breath hitched at the stab of yearning. "Jamie..."

With a curse, James rolled his hips into Q's touch, the shuddering never seemingly stopping. "I'm here... we're both here," he said, soothing the both of them. 

 

"I never stopped believing, no matter how many times I lost you," Q murmured. "That someday... someday I would get to hold you again," he pressed as close to James as he could. "I knew I'd see you again, I'd dream about you, dream about us. Why didn't I remember?"

"Shh..." James hushed softly. "I couldn't remember either..." Too many things plagued his dreams, and he supposed it had been a long time since he last remembered his own dreams. "I think we only meant to remember each other until we've met..."

"I love you, Jamie," Q whispered. "I waited so long to say it again. I couldn't say it to someone else. Even thinking of it felt wrong, made me feel sick," he twisted his hand around Bond's cock, devouring his mouth.

"I love you, too, Elliot," James murmured fervently, thrusting into Q's grip, his fingers reaching down to fondle Q's balls.

Q slid his hands down the tanned shoulders, memories of stolen kisses in the evening shadows layered over the present. He could feel the warm grass, the laughter, the tenderness. He kissed Bond between aroused pants, rolling over on top of him.

James groaned, gazing up at Q on top of him, beautiful and fay-like, and he couldn't but roll his hips up against Q, flashes of sparkling grey-green eyes, of hushed words and whispered promises filled his ears, the rays of sunlight warm and moonlight silvery against their skin. 

 

It had been glorious while it lasted. 

 

Swallowing, James reached up to pull Q down into a fierce kiss.

Q gave everything he had into the kiss, even his breath. He cradled Bond's head tenderly in his hands memorizing the lines in his face with the pads of his fingers. "I feel like we should be lying on dirt," he confessed. "I don't remember there ever being a bed."

James shuddered in Q's touch and shook his head. "There was never any decent bed in my hut," he whispered, stroking Q's face. That was part of what he had felt somewhat guilty about, Elliot had been the son of a wealthy family, he deserved to be lying on good and soft beds... But Elliott had never allowed that to constrain their time together, always out about the grounds, deep in the nearby woods to be with Jamie, as far away from the house as they could allow themselves to go. 

 

James had never really figured it out whether Elliot had actually enjoyed all that nature, or if he simply hadn't wanted Jamie to feel bad.

"I miss it," Q smiled. "It was so simple, so right. I could feel my heart thudding against the dirt when you kissed me. You always worried far too much about me, Jamie, wanting to make sure I went back clean. I miss the smell, the sun baked moors, the way you smelled like a combination of us," he bent to kiss Bond, fingers still deft on his cock.

"I didn't want you to get into trouble," James whispered, his hand roaming along Q's torso, the other stroking the younger man's cock still also. "We'll be able to enjoy all of that again soon..."


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm not sure I can lie on the ground anymore after the accident," Q admitted as he arched into James's hand. "We may have to bring pillows, I'm not seventeen anymore, Jamie," he kissed him sweetly.

"Neither am I," James smiled. "I'll take care of it." His thumb brushed over the tip of Q's cock. "I'll take care of you."

“You always have, Jamie," Q's eyes were pure emerald light, bright with love. "I have a cot in the atrium, that might work," he breathed, shivering as their mutual pleasure swelled.

James groaned, gasping loudly as he stroked faster, just at the cusp of ecstasy. "Lots of blankets and pillows then," he groaned.

"That can be arraigned," Q laughed. "There's a linen closet, and a stove in the atrium. There's just us, we can wander around naked as we like. But I want to see you come first. Come with me, yeah?"

James nodded, his stroking urgent now as he tried to keep himself coordinated enough. He felt like a teenager again, eager, it was almost embarrassing... but the blood in his veins was singing in a way he had never before felt, and it was worth it all. 

 

Finally, he bucked and hissed, pleasure crested into bliss as he and Q came nearly at the the same time.

"Love..." Q opened his eyes a few minutes later, once the shaking had stopped. He was still clinging to Bond, fingers tight on his lovers sweaty skin. Their release was a sticky, cool puddle between them, and Q laughed. "We need a bath, and thank god there's indoor plumbing and hot water now," he wrinkled his nose.

"Yes, very much," James agreed. Back then, it took them so long so just boil the water... and Jamie usually just let Elliott shower first, since he had been the one who needed to be clean more than he ever had. "Come on. Let's get to the bath."

Q pressed a kiss to his lips and stood, legs still shaky. "Wow..." he laughed, and offered his lover a hand.

James stood up, took the hand, and pulled Q closer to his body, nuzzling his ear. "Lovely," he hummed.

Q melted against him, in no hurry to leave the warmth of his lover pressed against him. He groaned softly as his cock brushed against James. "Too sensitive yet," he shivered.

"Which is why we need to cool down now with a bath." James pressed a chaste kiss to Q's cheek, leading him over to the bathroom.

Q couldn't help but laugh as he switched on the lights. Once again the bath was full, and there were robes and towels laid out on the heater. A tea tray sat next to the bath on a small folding table.

"Considerate," James mumbled. "It's a good thing that we're already naked." And he helped Q into the bath. The water was just at the right temperature.

Q smiled and curled into his lover's arms, the warm water soothing the muscles he hadn't used in so long. He pulled down a bottle of soap and rubbed the mine into James's skin. "You'll have to make us smell like sex again," he murmured sleepily.

James chuckled, rubbing the soap along Q's body, too, massaging the tense muscles he could feel with his hands. "Of course," he hummed. "I wouldn't waste a chance."

"Good," Q smiled and stretched under James's hands with a purr. He stole a kiss and poured them a mug of tea to share.

James chuckled, leaning in to steal a kiss too, sucking the tea from Q's lips after his lover had done taking his first sip.

Q moaned into his mouth and shared another sip of tea with James. He could hear soft laughter from the hall, and smiled. "The house is pleased," he murmured.

"We'd be the only ones who'd say that a house is pleased when there's strange laughter in the hall." James chuckled, hands on Q's hips.

"Well if we keep the house happy, it keeps us safe," Q said with a laugh. "I'm determined we get our happy ending this time."

"Me, too," James nodded. That was what he was counting on. Time had changed, so did society, and he wouldn't let anything else separate them this time, not if he could help it. "I'm determined to grow old with you," he whispered, bringing Q's hands up from under the scented water of the bath, kissing the knuckles softly. "I want to wake up next to you in the morning and go to bed with you at night. Every day, for the rest of our lives."

"That sounds wonderful," Q smiled. "I want a porch with rocking chairs and grey in my hair."

James nodded, his hand carding through Q's thick locks. "As long as you're happy."

"I couldn't be happier than being back in your arms," Q smiled. "So... Where did it start? Here? Skyfall? I can't remember how it connects yet."

"I don't know either..." he whispered. "Just snippets here and there... I think your father drove me out of the house when he saw us kissing..." he sighed. "And maybe I came here."

"Ah..." Q nodded. "I'm sure we'll remember more in time. I wonder if my journal is here?"

"If you had come here, then maybe," James nodded. "Or maybe mine is here... You taught me how to read and writer after all..." He murmured, kissing those lips. "I still remember the first time you told me how to spell and write my own name."

"I remember that, a kiss as a reward for each correct letter," Q smiled at the memory of scratching letters in the hearth ashes as they were tucked under the blankets on a winter morning.

James smiled to himself. "You found just the right reward system to keep me from giving up." And now, here he was, life times after, a journalist of all thing. It was funny, considering how he could still remember how exasperated he had been at having to remember so many letters. "But that got so much more difficult when we started putting the letters into actual words."

"You did a very good job," Q said softly. "I saved the first note you wrote me..." his eyes welled with tears. "I was so proud Jamie, I knew you were going to be someone extraordinary, that my father was wrong."

"You were the only one to have ever believed that," James murmured, swallowing thickly and reaching up to brush away the gathering tears at the corner of Q's eyes. "I could only did that thanks to you and your patience, Elliott."

"Of course I believed in you," Q looked at him through hazy eyes. "You said you loved me. And if I could trust that, I could believe in you."

"And that was all I needed," James murmured. "That's all I need now."

"That's all I've ever needed, is to be in your arms, and let you love me," Q murmured, arms around Bond's neck. "The water is getting cold, we should go dry off in front of the fire," he squealed as Bond hoisted him up.

Water fell and sloshed around them, and James held Q tight in his arms, his workout had paid off for all the use of his muscle strength right then. It was good, and he got them both out of the bath.

Q laughed in delight, clinging to James. "Will you dance with me again tonight?" He asked, green eyes glowing in the candlelight.

"As long as you want it." James winked, setting Q down carefully onto the floor of the bathroom and picking up soft towels to swaddle him in.

Q blinked at him, and reached for his glasses to put James in focus as he moved back. "Dinner and dancing then. And I think I'll require your services to warm my bed, Mr. Bond. The nights can get so very long," he flirted, running long fingers across James's chest.

James hummed, the sound deep and rumbling in the back of his throat. "You'll find that I'm rather good at that." He grinned, rubbing the water out of Q's hair.

"I do hope so. I've been quite cold with the storms," Q rubbed against him. "I like you with stubble, it feels good," he shivered.

 

"One for the rugged look then," James smiled, kissing Q's forehead, mouth brushing at one of the wet curls. "I love your hair long like this. It suits you." He held the younger man tighter for a moment before letting go. "Come on. Let's change and have dinner. What do you feel like having?"

"I chopped vegetables for shepherd's pie," Q smiled in the mirror at their reflection, James over his shoulder. "If that's alright? Or we can do a roasted leg  of lamb. There's bread dough..."

 

***

 

_ And then he was lost in the past, humming as he rolled out dough and braided it, feet bare on the dirt floor. Jamie bursting in the door of the hut- _

 

_ "You didn't tell me you'd be here tonight?" The eager kiss, Jamie's stubble rough on his neck. _

 

_ "Mother's sister is in labor, they went to stay for a few days," arms around Jamie's neck, trying not to get flour on him, as Jamie worked at the ties on his pants. _

_ "Really?" Jamie breathed, a slow grin on his lips, blades of grass still stuck in his hair. "All of them?" _

_ "Yes, you have me all to yourself," Elliot grinned, pulling at Jamie's braces. "A bit of a tumble before I finish cooking then?" He devoured his lover's mouth eagerly, moaning at the brush of their cocks. _

_ "Okay," Jamie breathed. "Let me wash my hands first. Don't want to ruin your clothes." _

_ "Forget my clothes, I want you inside me," Elliot pleaded. "But I should wash my hands as well, flour and oil are a bad mix," he grinned mischievously. "I was able to make some more cinnamon oil, the peddler came by last week with spices." _

_ "I will ruin you if you keep talking like that, Young Master," Jamie laughed softly. "I need my hands to get your clothes off of you anyway, so let's wash our hands together. I'll get the water." He stole another kiss before letting go. "And that sounds lovely. You're so talented." _

_ "Something to warm you, inside and out, darling," Elliot teased. "You promised me a turn inside you when we next had time, so I wanted to make sure I had some oil to make it pleasurable for you," he stripped off his shirt and dipped his hands into the wash bucket. "You work too hard, Jamie. Tonight you'll relax with me." _

 

_ Jamie found his cheeks flushing a little as he washed his hands too, trying to clean the dirt that clung to them. "I just do what all good shepherds do, Elliot," he said. "And I'll enjoy my time with you no matter what... Can we keep some of that oil for later? I want to pleasure you too." _

_ "I made a whole bottle," Elliot smiled. "As long as you can keep it here, I'd rather they not find it in the house. But I used the good mineral oil for skin, its soft enough I can rub your back as well." _

 

_ Elliot dried his hands and then wet the corner of the cloth to wipe James's face.  "I baked a tart for dessert, there were some cherries in the pantry," he smiled shyly. "I hope that's alright." _

_ "That's more than alright!" Jamie exclaimed, closing his eyes just a little as the wet cloth cleaned up over his face. "I saw those growing not too far from here. Some were a bit sour though, but the rest are really sweet. I figured you'd know what to do with them better than I do." He grinned. "You're so brilliant. You can make oil and bake and cook, too." And read, write, dance, sing... Perfect. "So beautiful." _

_ "I just know what makes you smile," Elliot smiled. "I try to please you, since we don't get much time together." _

_ Jamie understood that sentiment. "Just you is already more than enough he said, putting the water to the side, before turning around to kiss Elliott. _

_ "Come on, love," Elliot took him by the hand and led him to the pile of blankets. He'd already made them into a soft nest by the fire, and he knelt in front of Jamie, pulling him down for a soft kiss. _

_ Jamie shivered, pressing back into the kiss. Seeing the usually so poised Young Master on his knees and so close to him, desiring him, always made Jamie's stomach flutter as sighed, kneeling down next to Elliot, too. "How do you want me?" he whispered. _

_ "Any way you like... I'm not-" Elliot blushed. "I've never been on this side of it." _

_ "It's okay," Jamie murmured, loving the pink that stained Elliot's pale cheeks. "We'll take it slow," he reassured the Young Master. "Let's take off our clothes first." _

_ Elliot nodded and reached for the buttons on Jamie's shirt, fingers trembling. "By the time I see you, I always want you so badly I can't think," he confessed. _

_ Jamie reached to start undoing the buttons on Elliott's soft, white shirt, too, smiling softly, rather shy himself. "I've always wanted you, too..." he admitted himself. It was innocent at first; from the moment he first laid eyes on Elliott after he had been brought home from the market where Master had bought him... Jamie had always thought that Elliott was beautiful and had wanted to get close to him.  _

 

_ He had never considered about anything beyond that, but here they were, years later, closer than he had ever thought they'd be. Elliott was amazing. He had never been like what other people said, what Jamie himself had seen, about rich children. _

_ Elliot reached to kiss him, a heady moan of desire escaping. "I'll always love you, Jamie. Truly." _

 

***

Q opened his eyes to James above him. "So vivid," he whispered. "You did always love my bread."

 

James blinked, his eyes focusing back onto Q within a span of a breath. "Of course," he breathed. "They were always really good." Servants like him could hardly ever have a taste of something so fresh. 

 

Q kissed him tenderly, holding on for dear life. "Whatever you want, darling. Just tell me."

 

"You," James murmured. "Just you." He grabbed for robes and put them on for both him and Q, the flashes of oh-so vivid memories making him feel just that bit weak in the knees. "Come on. Let's get you back to your room for a proper change of clothes."

"Just a pair of sleep pants and a sweater is fine," Q didn't let go of his lover. "I doubt you'll keep your hands off me long anyway. We can sit in the kitchen, and you can watch me cook."

James sniffed a little, teasingly so, before leading them out to head back upstairs to where their bedrooms were.

Q found them clothes and dressed quickly, impatient. "I want my hands back on you," he laughed, helping James put on a sweater, and tucking his hands underneath to feel his lover's skin. "Bring a blanket."

 

Q's hand was warm on his skin, and James shivered as he nodded, grabbing for a soft and thick blanket from inside the closet, bringing it down with him.

"Shepherd's pie," Q kissed him softly. "No wonder," he smiled and held on to James, setting him in a chair in front of the kitchen fireplace. "I didn't understand why the kitchen had this, but it's rather romantic," he added.

"Let me help you?" James whispered, his hands on Q's cheeks. "Even though I'm only half-decent at cooking." He paused just for a second, then said, "As always he supposed."

"Sure," Q kissed him softly. "Let me knead the bread, and I'll start the shepherd's pie." He showed James the dough he already had rising.

 

James smiled, his heart incredibly warm in a way he hadn't felt for a long, long time. "What do you need me to do then?"

"Can you chop the potatoes, and put them on to boil?" Q asked, flouring a board and kneading the dough. He went to brush a stray curl out of his face, and ended up with flour smudged on his glasses.

James nodded and set out peeling and chopping the potatoes with quick efficiency. He had done this too many times to be honest, and when he turned to look at Q, he couldn't but chuckle a little. "You got flour on your glasses," he said, drying his hand in a towel. "Do you want me to wipe it off for you now?"

"Yes please, can't see a thing," Q laughed. He set the bread dough on the tray and blinked as James took his glasses. He filled the tea kettle and turned on the oven to warm, and then returned for the glasses.

James cleaned the glasses with a soft cloth until they were spotless again before slipping them carefully back up the bridge of Q's nose. "There we go," he smiled, kissing Q's nose.

"Thanks," Q smiled and went to coat the dough in butter, before putting it in the oven. He sauteed the lamb and vegetables in a pot with salt and pepper, and then set out a buttered casserole dish to wait to be filled.

 

"I wonder..." he said thoughtfully. He went to the fridge and opened the drawers, returning triumphant with a container of cherries. "Thought I'd seen these," he popped one in James's mouth. "I'll make a pie, and there's vanilla ice cream."

"Why are you always so much better than me at cooking?" James murmured, chewing on the cherry. "These are much sweeter than the ones I picked before." It was a given anyway, wild cherry couldn't always compare to the size and sweetness of cultivated ones. "That sounds wonderful."

"I'm more domestic," Q laughed. "I've been on my own a long time, and I have a good cookbook collection. And Eve loves sweets, so I test out my recipes on her."

"I've been on my own, too, and I usually just order takeaways to lessen the hassle." James shrugged with a soft smile. "But it's good that you know how to cook, love."

"Well, I enjoy it," Q shrugged, draining the potatoes and mashing them with the rest of the butter. "Its satisfying, and it's a good way to show I care, without it having to be something super expensive."

"Let me do that," James said, taking over the mashing. "But yes, I suppose you're right."

"It always appealed to me, although now i suppose I know why," Q smiled and stirred the browning lamb and vegetables in the pan, before adding some fresh rosemary and thyme. "I like taking care of you, I suppose I always have."

"You're too good to me," James said, a gentle hand on the small of Q's back.  _ Too good for me. _

"Never," Q bent back to capture James's mouth in a kiss. "Besides, I need you to help me watch the food. Or else I'll get distracted and burn it staring at you," he teased, dodging around James in his bare feet on the smooth kitchen stones.

"That'll definitely call for both of our attention because I'm sure mine is suffering from the same problem," James grinned before looking down at Q's feet. "Sure you should walk around barefooted?" he asked. "You may catch a cold."

"I usually just wear socks, but I have slippers in the atrium, if you'll get them for me?" Q asked. "I want to finish putting the potatoes in the casserole pan, and get this in the oven so I can start dessert."

James nodded and went to the atrium to quickly fetch those slippers. "I'll be back quickly," he promised, almost reluctant to leave. But for the sake of Q's health, he wasn't going to risk it over his own selfishness.

Q nodded, already spooning the potatoes over the browned vegetables and lamb. He got a clean mixing bowl and started sifting together flour and sugar, and then pitted the cherries and melted sugar into them in a pan on the stove.

 

It smelt lovely by the time James returned and bent to set the pair of slippers down onto the floor. Slowly, he picked up each of Q's feet, rubbed at them gently to warm them up, before sliding the slippers onto them.

It smelt lovely by the time James returned and bent to set the pair of slippers down onto the floor. Slowly, he picked up each of Q's feet, rubbed at them gently to warm them up, before sliding the slippers onto them.

"Stop that," Q giggled. "I'm not your master in this life. Stand up and stop being ridiculous," he laughed, pulling James up to kiss him.

"I just want to take care of you, too," James hummed. "Your feet were cold anyway."

"Stop spoiling me," Q huffed, feigning displeasure, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. "You can pour us tea, if you like? I just have to finish the crust while the cherries cool."

"You deserve all the spoiling," James said as he stood up with a smile and went to pour tea for them while watching closely as Q worked.

"Hush," Q scolded with a smile, creaming the butter together with the sugar. He soon had a pastry dough rolled out and in a tart pan, and was cutting lattice strips for the top.

 

James sighed, contented just by watching Q, something aching inside his heart—a longing that was only then satisfied... a longing he had always chalked off as random loneliness... Now everything made sense. 

 

Quietly, he went over and pressed a kiss to the nape of Q's neck. "I love you," he whispered.

 

"And I love you," Q whispered, turning to wrap his arms around James's neck. "I feel... full. No, complete. Like I don't have this aching emptiness inside me anymore. It hurt for so long, I just tried to ignore it."

"Me, too," James whispered, brushing their lips together. "I felt so lonely before, but I've always told myself that it's probably because I'm thinking too much... missing and yearning for something I can't even name... Now I know. I know that it's you." He held tightly onto Q, swallowing thickly.

"James," Q held on to him and petted the soft, blond hair, reveling in the smell of his lover, which brought memories flooding back. "I... I always thought I was too selfish, too picky, that I couldn't settle for someone that didn't make me want to spend the rest of my life with them. And now, i never want to let you out of my sight."

"It's never wrong to look for what makes us happy, Quentin," James murmured, nuzzling into his lover. "I don't ever want to let you go either... never again." The words were bitterly familiar on his tongue, and James realized with a stab of pain of just how many times he had said this before, over and over and over again, and yet nothing ever worked out the way they had wanted it to.

  
This time, it would be different. It had to be different.


	8. Chapter 8

"Never alone again," Q nodded, still holding on to his lover. "We'll find a way. There has to be something in those books, some clue."

"There has to be," James agreed. He couldn't bear losing Q again... he couldn't bear the thought of pushing him away once more.

"Anyway, for tonight, we're just going to enjoy," Q said, stepping back to put the two dishes into the oven. "We have an hour, come sit with me," he sat in front of the fire on the blanket James had brought down, and wrapped it around them.

James brought the tea over and handed one to Q before slipping behind the younger man and pulled him flush to his chest.

"So tell me something else about you, what you do in this life?" Q asked. "How did you decide on journalism? I always thought of you more as someone who worked with your hands, you're so good at it."

James hummed a little, not knowing where to start. "I was in the military," he started, answering Q's question directly first. "Royal Navy. I did jump around, too, and ended up in the Special Forces, Black Ops." He paused. "After a teammate shot me off a moving train, and I got hurt a bit too much, they sent me home, and I just left. I couldn't stay still though... Adrenaline junkie, maybe,"  _ PTSD _ , the word of the doctor whispered, and he pushed that away. "Or just generally restless, so I started digging around. I did manage to finish college at some point and tried to employ that, too. And then my friend, Alec, contacted me and said that a newspaper was hiring for journalists." He shrugged.

"From black ops to journalism? That's quite a change," Q curled up closer with a content sigh. "I've always wanted to travel, but it was never feasible, with trying to just pay the bills and all. I took art at Uni, thought maybe I could be a museum curator or something practical. But nothing called to me like drawing."

It was a change that James welcomed because the so-called 'collateral damages' were rising too high. "I can take you traveling," James promised softly. "And you've always been so good at painting and drawing, though, I'm not surprised."  

 

"I remember sketching you," Q confessed. "In the hut, one morning while you slept..." he sighed wistfully. "You're so handsome."

"I  _ was _ to you," James chuckled, smiling wistfully himself. "But you are beautiful." He kissed Q's lips.

"No, you're incredible," Q blushed. "Rugged, handsome, and now... Now you're all polished. He touched James's cheek with his fingers, tracing the familiar lines.

James scoffed softly, smiling nonetheless. "Polished." He nuzzled into Q's hand.

"You are! A journalist, and one with an estate," Q smiled at him, the winsome boy so close beneath the surface. "I'm afraid I'm rather shallow though, I want you for your body, not your money."

"Hmm... I don't deem that to be shallow, love," James smiled, kissing just below Q's earlobe. "I wouldn't call myself polished though..." He wondered if Q would think the same if he realized the number of people James had killed. 

 

"Well of course I want you- that came out all wrong," Q fretted. "I want you because you are you, not because of what you can do for me. There. That's better," he said as he finally managed to work it out in his mind.

James chuckled in amusement. "I know, Q," he reassured his lover. "I know... because I love you for who you are as well. And your looking so beautiful is just a bonus," he rumbled.

Q snuggled further into his side with a groan, and melted in James's embrace. "You always were too complementary of me," he groused playfully.

"I have to because you never really seemed to accept it." James's arms tightened around Q. "You don't realize how wonderful you are."

"I'm just... Me," Q said faintly. "Too artistic, bad at physical work, scatterbrained, madly in love with you, and it makes me forget things like matching my socks, or combing my hair."

"You forget intelligent, good with crafts, and having a strong enough will that can beat just about anything." He kissed Q's lips. "Amazing, and wonderful."

"Nonsense, you're only partial because I cook for you," Q murmured, pulling James into a kiss.

"Same thoughts even before you started cooking for me, love," James chuckled against Q's lips, nipping and sucking at them gently.

"Fine, I'm beat," Q laughed," enjoying the kiss. He ran his hands back under Bond's sweater to trace across his skin.

 

"Good," James smiled, a hand teasing up under Q's sweater, too, cupping his lower back. 

 

Q enjoyed the kisses, the smiled and laughter that went hand in hand with the romance. He stayed on James's lap until the timer went off.

 

"Let me check the food, be right back," he stood reluctantly and pressed a kiss to James's forehead.

 

James grumbled, and stood up to follow Q, trailing after him as he opened the oven and the smell of wonderfully cooked Shepherd's pie and cherry pie wafted out to assault his senses. 

 

"Smells done, anyway," Q smiled. "Let me just turn off the oven, and it can stay to cool. Just let me know when you want to eat."

 

"Hmm..." James hummed, wrapping his arms around Q. "I can ravish you now. How about that?" 

 

"You can ravish me any time you like, you don't need my permission," Q held on.

 

"I know." He nipped at Q's neck, licking softly at the small, red mark that left behind. "I want to enjoy your pies first though... It's been too damn long." 

 

"Oh good lord, turned down for sex for my cooking," Q burst into pleased laughter. "I'll bring you a slice of each," he dished up a helping of shepherd's pie for each of them, with slabs of buttered bread.

 

James sniffed with a smile. "Who doesn't love good food?" He rummaged around for cutlery first and set them out with napkins before settling down, breathing in the scent of Shepherd's pie and sweet cherry, familiar in a way that was different from any pies he could specifically remember having ever tasted. It smelt like home and he thanked Q and tucked in, taking a bite of the Shepherd first. 

 

The moment it touched his tongue, his throat was tight enough that he couldn't swallow the meat and well-baked, golden dough down.

 

Vaguely, he could remember Elliot asking how the pie tasted, and Jamie had said, wide grin and bright eyes, all innocence and almost child-like, that  _ "It's the best pie in the world! I love it!"  _

 

He hadn't been wrong. 

 

"It's the best pie in the world," James murmured once he had swallowed the bite past his throat with a sincere smile on his lips. "I love it." 

 

Tears welled up in Q's eyes, and he threw himself into James's lap with a sob, pressing kisses to any piece of skin he could find, clutching him like he would disappear.

 

James held on tight, eyes stinging himself, and was kissing Q back just as urgently, the pulse of yearning unbearable in his heart. "I love you," he whispered, sounding near desperate. 

 

"I love you, I always have," Q whispered. "I used to dream about you holding me, your voice. And it made every blind date so pointless, but I went just in case it would be you, Jamie."

 

"I have stopped dreaming for a long time," James admitted quietly. "But I think I did dream about you, too, Elliot... when I was younger... Your aura has always felt so gentle."

 

"I always adored you, always wanted to take care of you," Q whispered simply.  "I wanted to wrap you in my arms, and make you smile."

 

"And I always wanted to keep you safe..." James murmured, smoothing a hand across Q's cheek, fingers carding through the curls of his hair. "To protect you from everything that might harm you." Even if that included himself. "To worship you and make you realize how beautiful you really are."

 

"You've always been too selfless, too good to me," Q said softly. "Let's think of ourselves as a couple, and make decisions that way from now on. Less of this individual nonsense; I won't be separated from you again."

 

"Nothing is too good to you," James kissed Q's lips. "But okay... I won't be separated from you again either."

 

"Finish your dinner, so I can feed you dessert," Q smiled into the kiss. "I made whipped cream to go with the ice cream and pie."

 

"Sounds good," James smiled. "You're obviously trying to fatten me or something," he teased. 

 

"Or something," Q laughed. "I'm just trying to take care of you."

 

James laughed as well. "You're the one needs some meat on your bones," he nuzzled Q, feeding him a spoonful of the pie. "You're too thin." 

 

"Well I'm sure I'll have more of an appetite with all the sex, and less stress," Q laughed. "Oh, that is good," he smiled around the mouthful of pie.

 

"More sex, it is, then. And definitely less stress once we leave here," James grinned and brushed their noses together, chewing on a bite of pie himself. "Of course it's good," he murmured. 

 

Q escaped his lap with a laugh to get the whipped cream and ice cream. "Honestly, Jamie, eat your dinner, love. I want you to have energy later, not fall asleep on me."

 

James's eyes narrowed playfully. "I'm not young anymore, but not  _ that _ old," he drawled.

 

"Well if you're full of dessert, all bets are off," Q grinned. "You fell asleep on me after cobbler that time..."

 

***

 

"Jamie, you dunce," Q said mournfully. "I dinna sneak my best apricot cobbler out of the house for you to nap," he smacked his snoring lover, who was asleep on his lap, cloak pulled over them both.

Jamie jerked from his sleep, the snoring stopping with a small snort, and was up, looking around blearily—whether he saw anything at all out of barely opened eyes would really remain a mystery—before falling back down and snuggling back into Elliot, arms around his waist. He had almost thought that a sheep had wandered off from the flock. "Cobbler too good..." he mumbled, voice muffled in Elliot's shirt. 

 

"Oy, Jamie, honestly," Elliot dissolved into giggles. "I'm going to sketch this so you can remember how ridiculous you look!" He pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil, capturing his lover's open mouthed snoring.

 

***

 

"They were good times," Q laughed softly, kissing a bit of cream off James's face.

James hummed. "Well, they do say that people will be more likely to fall asleep if their stomachs are full," he replied, playfully indignant. "Besides, your lap is too comfortable," he grinned, kissing the cherry from Q's lips.

"I used to look at that sketch for hours, when I wasn't with you at night," Q said softly, pulling James into his arms. "I bet its my sketchbook that's here instead of a journal. I'd really love to see those again."

"It's a shame that I didn't draw decently enough to try and sketch you," James whispered, brushing a lock of Q's stray hair away.

"Nonsense, no use both of us being good at the same thing," Q said practically. "I'm excited to be in your arms, that's enough of a gift for me."

James smiled. "It's because you're so beautiful, back then and now, that I want to have more than a memory of it." He kissed Q's nose. "Maybe I can try to see if there's any painting of you remains," he hummed. It was worth a try. 

 

"There might be," Q said thoughtfully. "I found the gallery unsettling, so I didn't spend much time there. Although I have pictures of me younger, this time around, if you'd like to see."

"I'd like to see anything that's related to you, love," James murmured, gazing into those grey-green eyes, the tightly-wound yearning in his heart easing a little.

"Well finish your pie then," Q smiled. "And I'll show you."

James smiled and did a mock bow before picking up his fork once more to finish the pie with its oozing, sweet cherry filling, the whipped cream and ice cream cool and light, heightening the taste itself. 

 

"You're exactly the same, its uncanny," Q whispered, cupping James's cheek in his hand.

Leaning into the touch, James looked at Q. "Really?" he whispered. "I don't remember being this jade," he said, half teasing.

"You were always jaded," Q snorted. "Always cynical and practical."

 

James huffed. "Now I know how you see me," he teased.

"Nonsense, now you're only fishing for complements," Q teased, pressing a kiss to James's lips. "I adore you, always have. Despite you being the cynical, practical, one of us."

James grinned, caught but still pretty much shameless. "You have to be practical when you herd sheep for a living, love," he chuckled. He had been a slave... He had to be practical... and cynical.

"Well you don't herd sheep now... Unless you've got sheep at Skyfall?" Q asked. "That might be adorable actually."

"Used to," James chuckled. "Probably not anymore. I'm not sure."

Q wrinkled his nose, thoughtful. "I might insist on a few as background noise," he laughed as he pressed a kiss to James's lips.

"Well, now that's something to consider." James laughed, biting softly onto Q's lips before finishing the last of the pie.

"I miss the sound," Q confessed. "Its all that's missing from my memory of us outside on the moors," he laid his head on James's shoulder. "I loved when you would sing them to sleep."

"I don't know, I was always the first asleep," Q admitted, standing and dumping their plates in the sink. "Let's go see the portraits, and then spend some more time in front of the fire?" He flashed one of his warm smiles that showed how Bond was the center of his world.

 

"Precisely. Maybe it was because you were partial to my voice." James said, watching Q and pausing at that smile, just a little stricken by the emotion behind it, feeling the warmth flooding his veins as he leant in and kissed Q softly, just as tender, in response.

"We'll have to test that theory," Q smiled. "We can play the piano again later, and I think there's a music room as well. I know there is a cupboard with instruments."

 

"Not too sure I can manage to lull you asleep with this voice anymore," he joked, pretended to clear his throat.

"Hush you," Q shoved James playfully as he followed him up the stairs. "End of the hall to the left," he turned on the hall lights.

 

True to its name, portraits were everywhere, hanging on all four walls. "If this house wasn't built until that diary that we found, would your portrait really be here, though?" James asked quietly. "Or maybe I stole a portrait of yours before running away." It was difficult to say, but given how reckless he had always been, that didn't sound at all that far-fetched.

"I don't know," Q confessed, turning on the lights. "But it was more than the once, I remember other things, the boat, the wedding. But who knows which of us lived here-" he stopped in front of one painting and went silent. "James?" His voice quivered.

 

Pausing, too, James looked at the portrait and froze. It wasn't Elliot... but it was someone whom he recognized as well. "That's you..." he murmured, throat tight, his hand on Q's back tightening.

"Yes... I... That was when I was sick wasn't it?" Q held on to him. "When you went to India?"

 

"It was..." James whispered, breathless. That man in the portrait was pale, sickly so. Even if the painter himself had tried to add some more colors to his skin, he really couldn't have made a sad person happy. "I came back too late..."

"I... It wasn't long after you left, only time enough to sneak off a few letters," Q swallowed.

"They didn't let me in," James said almost absently, still gazing at the portrait. "I deserted and went back as soon as I could... but they didn't let me see you..."

"I knew you wouldn't have left me alone," Q murmured, reaching for his hand. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

He could still hear himself shouting and struggling over and over to get to the door of where Richard's,  _ (Q's, Elliot's) _ , room, but the people there kept holding him down until he couldn't take it anymore and started to kick all of them away to burst into the heavily curtained room, tightly stuffed and filled with the sort of stale air that would worsen anyone's condition. 

 

He had had barely any time to hold Richard in his arms at all.

 

And numbly, James gathered Q into his arms, squeezing, heart beating too fast and loud in his ribcage.

"Don't let go," Q pleaded softly. "Can we go?"

"Yes. Let's." And with that, James was pulling Q out the door where they had just come in, turned out the light, and shut the room again tightly.

"Don't make me go in there again, please?" Q hid his head on James's shoulder with a shiver. "Its sinister. I'd much rather read the journals."

With a nod, James picked Q up into his arms swiftly, carefully. "Let's go upstairs."

Q nodded and let James kiss him, burying his head. "Let's see what else we can find in the journals."

 

"Now?" James asked. In the end, the night was still young. It only seemed so dark because of the storm.

"If you don't mind?" Q asked sheepishly. "I want to know. I feel like it's important."

James chuckled, pulling Q closer. "Library coming right up." And he brought the both of them back to the library, hitching the blanket from the kitchen as they went past it.

James hummed, nuzzling Q just a little as he pushed open the library door with his shoulder. "I can tell," he teased. "But I like carrying you like this, too. Keeps us close." 

 

"Mmm, no complaints," Q finally slid down and stood, stealing a last kiss. "So... What year, for Elliot and Jamie?"

"As far back as we can go," James said once he had carefully lowered Q down to the floor.

"So... Then that begs the question what year was the house built?" Q sighed over his list. "I really hope we can get into town tomorrow."

"Well, we know when  _ this _ house was built. 1837... or around that time, per Robert Bradley's account," James murmured. "Jamie and Elliot might have been in the house that got flooded."

"Oh!" Q stood suddenly. "They... Yes. This house was built, and it was given to the family because of their son. Someone recognized... Its always been a gay couple; two men, that protected the village."

"So when were we as Jamie and Elliot?" James murmured, trying to remember. "Judging from what I could remember of our clothes, 1700s?"

"Yes... Scotland, somewhere? Where is Skyfall now?" Q asked. "Maybe the ley lines connect Skyfall and here."

"Makes me wonder how Jamie had ever managed to end up here... maybe." James frowned, the memories still patchy in his mind. "Skyfall is in Glencoe right now. Couldn't have moved so far from our original location."

"So... Glencoe... And we're a long drive, a few weeks walk," Q thought out loud. "Where were you sold? How long ago was that outlawed, or did my family bring you from somewhere else?

"A small village... Southeast of Glencoe?" James tried to remember. The earlier he tried to trace, the fainter the trail grew. He had been young. "My dad sold me to the merchant when I was nine, but no one bought me until we came to your town. Your father saw me and thought that I might be useful to help with chores around the house, I think. Probably because I had looked less sickly by then." He shrugged. "As for slavery itself... the official Abolition Act didn't come out until 1833, but I think the movement had already started around the late 1700s... Around 1780 or something."

 

"So more of an indentured servant, it sounds like," Q muttered. "An apprentice?"

"Servant," James murmured. "I don't think your father was trying to teach me anything..."

"I don't even remember what he did, only that I was a disappointment," Q sighed. "Always in the kitchen, like a fucking wife, never do anything a man does..." he looked at James, eyes full of pain.

"What a man is, is not defined by what he does." James sighed and pulled Q into his arms. "And that his loss and my gain..."

"I didn't care particularly, except for escaping the beatings," Q shivered. "The scars from the accident on my back, they're in the same place as where he used the carriage whip."

James let out a breath and pulled Q into his arms. He had never been able to stop the beatings, mostly because they happened at night and he was living in his own place rather far from the main house. 

 

_ "You leave this place right now! Now! Or I'll beat him to death! Do you hear me?! LEAVE OR HE'LL DIE RIGHT NOW!"  _

Q cried silently against his shoulder, the pain from accident melding with the memory. He clung to James, trying to wash the memories away.

James tightened his arms around Q, the memories swirling in his mind. And pain, too. "I should have gotten you out of there," he whispered.

"No, it wasn't your fault," Q said softly. "He would have killed you, and that would have been worse."

James shook his head. "Should've brought you to run away with me... I hadn't thought it through." He took in a breath and shook his head.

"We always think of a solution after, James," Q comforted. "Don't blame yourself."

James sighed, suppressing a shiver. "You always looked to sickly whenever I managed to come and see you..." It pained Jamie; it pained him. That was just too much. 


	9. Chapter 9

"It's the past, James, long past," Q sighed. "We have today. But I want to know why we got another chance."

'Is it really a chance, or is it just us unable to let go of one another?" James whispered, his thumb brushing over Q's cheekbone, the flashes of those nighttime meetings fresh and fluttering in his mind. Because it was a few weeks walk away, he hadn't been able to come often... It made him wonder how it was that Elliot had managed to come here at all, leaving Skyfall behind as well as that brute of a father.

"I don't know, but does it matter?" Q nuzzled into his hand and kissed the palm. "I need you, James. Need you to hold me, wake up with me. I don't need that any less than I did in 1790."

Shivering, James nodded, bringing their foreheads together. "As long as you're safe and well," he murmured. "That's all I need."

"And I as well," Q smiled. "You've always been my Northern Star," he picked up a black book and shook James excitedly. "It's here! My sketches!"

The cover was worn, much like many other things, but well-preserved enough that the humidity and termites, if there were any, hadn't gotten to it.

 

"So it survives after all," James mused, peering over Q's shoulder to look as the younger man opened up the sketch book.

 

And there was Jamie, dried pie on his cheek, wrapped up in Elliot's robe. And Jamie, asleep under a tree, his shadow lengthening as evening came. And a drawing of the two of them, holding hands, gazing at each other.

 

"This looks... significant. Do you remember?" Q whispered.

"I—..." James studied the sketches, amazing as they were, heart clenching when his gaze stopped at Elliot's hand. "I asked you live with me for the rest of our lives if we could... and gave you a flower ring because I didn't have money to buy a real ring..."

James shivered and took Q's hands, squeezing. "Will you stay with me for the rest of our lives? To wake up and fall asleep next to me? Let me protect and take care of you? And allow me to enjoy your food, your voice, your smiles, you touches... your love and adoration everyday?" 

 

Q nodded eyes wide. He opened his mouth, but he had to clear his throat. "Yes, yes to all of it, every bit. Will you let me do the same?"

"Yes," James breathed. "Just maybe not the food." He grinned and leaned in to kiss Q deeply.

"James, it's the twenty first century, there's microwaves and take away," Q grinned. "Fine, you can be in charge of dishes."

"Microwaves and takeaways, yes, but I really do need to try and cook something decent for you for a change." He smiled. "But yes, I happen to be good at dish washing."

"Just be there to eat it, and I'll be thrilled," Q smiled and curled into James's arms. "I'm alright with the cooking."

"We're just the perfect combo," James murmured, nuzzling into Q's hair. "You're so good at drawing though, love." He was looking at the sketches again, an odd feeling in his chest as he looked at someone who was him but not at the same time.

"They were good days," Q said softly. "I still don't... Remember, exactly... Where... Hmmm. I still would love to find one of our journals, to see if Skyfall is where is it because of what happened then, or did you just use the name? And the stag... Why was that so important?"

"I can't remember either..." James murmured. "We'll continue to go through the journals then?"

"Ok," Q stayed in his arms. "In a minute," he stole a kiss and pulled James down on the carpet with him.

James let him, rolling them a little just so Q was on top of him, cushioned from the hard floor, carpeted or not.

"Mmm, you're hired as my personal bed," Q teased softly. "Which journal are we reading next?"

"No personal bed can be this warm," James grinned before humming. "There are many of them, so let's just pick one at random." He turned to look at the stacks of journals, stroking the small of Q's back. "Which one do you feel like reading? Or should we sort all of them into a rough timeline first?"

"Let's try to put the ones we've already read into a timeline, then we can see where we have gaps," Q sorted through a new stack. "Have you looked at these yet? They look... Familiar... Somehow."

"No, I..." James turned over to look at the journals. They were less worn and seemed to be in a better conditions than others. Newer. "Let me see."

 

He took one of them and opened to the first page. 

 

Thursday, 1937

 

I just arrived to Cambridge this morning, and it has been incredible so far...

 

"1937... Hmmm..." Q shrugged. "Keep reading?"

 

"World War II broke out in 1939," James murmured. 

 

"I did manage to get a room in our dormitory, thankfully enough, even if it's all the way upstairs, next to the last room at the end of the hall. Haven't seen my next-door neighbour yet, but well, it doesn't really matter. Either we'll become friends or we don't; I've never really put too stress on this.   
...

 

Friday.

 

I dislike the fact that we have to wear suits most of the time. First day of class, always dull. Or maybe it's just the professors... and the subjects themselves. 

 

Criminal Law, Constitutional Law, Civil Law...

 

Even the textbooks are dull.

 

...

 

Saturday. 

 

Bumped into my neighbour today... A shy, bespectacled chap, but he seems nice enough. 

 

Shit, forgot to ask his name.

 

...

 

"Oh..." Q breathed. "This one is yours. You wrote it. You, as a lawyer. You've come a long way from sheep, Jamie."

 

"Are you sure?" James murmured in a somewhat too soft joke. "Why would I want to become a lawyer though...?" 

 

Then he remembered, moving all the things he could to the other side, sitting pressed to the wooden walls, knocking softly, waiting for something in reply. 

 

"Morse code?" Q said suddenly, staring at him. "I was a... chemist? A... inventor? I blew things up! I set the lab on fire and you rescued me, and that's how we met."

 

"Chemist," James nodded. "God, you got into so much trouble for that. Good thing I was walking by." He remembered shoving the handkerchief he had soaked with water up Q's nose and dragging him out of there.

 

"What on earth was that? I only remember I'd had too much tea and not enough sleep... and was trying to... recreate alchemy? Christ!" Q laughed. "Oh my god, I was trying to do that trick to impress you."

 

"Impress me?" James grinned. "What? You already had your eyes on me since before?" 

 

"I saw when you arrived," Q admitted. "I changed the numbers on the room assignments board so you got the one next to mine. Poor Richard Pixley, whoever he was, got the boot."

 

"Already had eyes on me since then?" James nodded sagely. "How bold of you." He smiled, leaning his forehead against Q's. "You were my senior."

 

"By school year, not age," Q reminded. "I went to Cambridge at fifteen. That was the first year they allowed me to live in the dorms and not in a boarding house, because I was finally of age. They were afraid I'd be corrupted."  
"Corrupted by scandals and sodomites, as they said," James drawled. "You've always been brilliant, Q... So clever and intelligent." He pressed their lips together. "What made you decide to be so bold and change my room assignment?"

 

"You looked like an avenging angel... you were so angry when you stomped up the walk toward the dorms," Q shivered. "I wanted that gaze turned on me. I wasn't sure if I'd survive, but I had to know... even if I got devoured."

 

"Avenging angel," James breathed. "You always find the most breath-taking names to describe me." His hand trailed along Q's jaw. "Really should've punched Tom at the time, though, even if it had been my first day." 

 

"Who was Tom?" Q asked with a frown. "I don't remember him."

 

"A bloody bully, that's what he was," James muttered. "I think he was boasting about something to the new-comers, but I just walked away, which pissed him off. I still brushed him off and stormed away though." James shrugged. 

 

"Oh no..." Q turned pale. "Yeah... I remember him," he shivered. "He told me he was so macho, he even fucked guys. Used to slink around the halls of the Chemistry building after hours to torment me. He said now that I was finally in the dorms, it was open season on fresh meat."

 

James growled, just hearing those words again made his blood boil. "Hence why I said I should've punched him right on the first day. Arsehole got nothing on him but that manhole of a mouth." His lip curled. "Not that I didn't fight him later on anyway... he tried to touch you." James's face darkened. 

 

"I was easy to pick on, all spindly," Q muttered. "I was a terrible fighter, spent most of the first month of the term sporting two black eyes. Couldn't even bloody study. Thank fuck I was already ahead on the reading."

 

"Thank fuck I got there and beat those buggers up," James muttered, tucking Q close. "Should've gone for law enforcement or something. Not just law." 

 

"You were one of the first lawyers to defend a gay man, James. It was courageous work, far beyond anything you could do with your fists," Q said softly. "You saved me from going to prison, allowed my work in Chemistry to be published."

 

"Still not enough to stop what was going on around that time," James shook his head, rubbing his face. "I didn't manage to do anything, not after 1942..."

 

"You got drafted, James. It wasn't your fault. I wasn't, only because I was a convicted sodomite. I would have promoted degeneration amongst the troops. The only safe place for me was in academia," Q swallowed.

 

"Navy," James muttered. "The only thing I kept praying for was that nothing would happen to you while I was gone... that no bastards would take advantage and hurt you." His hand slipped to cradle the back of Q's head, pressing a shaken kiss to his curls. 

 

"Nothing did... I wrote moldy books that no one read," Q kissed him back. "But... You didn't come back."

 

"I couldn't..." James murmured, eyes closing. "I tried to, but I couldn't... I'm sorry, Q."

 

"I figured as much..." Q said softly. "But tell me why?"

 

"A comrade..." James sighed. "I couldn't bare the thought of ditching him in a trench... But I think a grenade came flying." Must have been it... Those last moments were so hazy, he couldn't quite remember.

 

"I'm sorry," Q swallowed. "I knew when it happened. A part of me... something felt like it broke."

 

James shook his head. "I felt that, too... When I came back from India and they wouldn't let me see you..." He held Q, stroking a hand up and down his shoulder. "It was the most painful and awful thing." Like losing a part of you without any preparation or preamble at all.

 

"We'll figure out a way to fix it," Q promised. "Alright... next journal. I suppose I should stop expecting a happy ending. We know how all of these ended."

 

"Why bind us together and never let us have a happy ending..." James muttered, shaking his head. It was like some sort of inside, cruel jokes that neither of them understood; as it was, they only suffered through it.

 

"I think... you've asked me to spend forever with you... I've said yes..." Q sighed. "But there must be a ceremony, something that we need to do to seal it. Wasn't there a handwritten Grimoire in that stack?"

 

James nodded, moving to rummage through it to find what Q was indicating, series of odd images flashing in his mind as he tried to wreak through his mind and remember this... something very important...

 

Suddenly, he paused.

 

"That huge, white stag..." he shivered, turning back to Q, eyes just a little wide. "We were playing around in the forest that one time when we saw it... do you remember it?" 

 

"Yes..." Q breathed.  
***  
"There aren't white deer in this part of England, Elliot," Jamie shouted. "It's a sign."

 

"A sign of what?" Elliot looked up from the sketchbook, where he was drawing the stag.

 

***

 

"The sketchbook! Quick, give it to me!" Q said, hands trembling.

 

James did, and there was, indeed, a sketch of a deer in there, the creature magnificent under the strokes of Elliot's pencil, lively, with powerful broad antlers. 

 

The man let out a soft breath. "It blessed us," James whispered quietly. "There was a legend that the deity who looked over the lands and forests around Skyfall took the form of a silver or white deer... It saw us, Elliot, but it didn't run away. It was waiting for us to come over." 

 

"Did we... Were we able to touch it?

 

***

 

"I don't think you can pet a stag, Jamie," Elliot looked doubtful. "He's huge. And probably scared of hunters."

 

"He knows that we're here, Elliot," Jamie murmured. "Look at its ear, it's turned this way. He already heard us a while back already, and he hasn't run away." 

 

And he took Elliot's hand, squeezing it. "Come on. Let's just give it a try." 

 

The white coating of its fur shone silver under the rays of light that managed to filter over the treetops, and it mesmerized Jamie as he trod the both of them closer to the deer. It was large and beautiful and had an air to it that made him feel like it was something very important and sacred... not just a mere animal. 

 

This could be a sign. 

 

He didn't even dare breathe too harshly as they stopped paces away from the creature. It hadn't run away.

 

"H-hey..." Jamie said awkwardly, softly so. "W-will you let us touch you? Just a little." 

 

The stag stuck out his muzzle a little further, and blew warm air on Jamie's fingers, staring at them. He nodded his antlers towards them and knelt on the ground, legs folded under him.

 

Jamie turned to look at Elliot, wide-eyed, a hesitant smile on his lips. Slowly, he reached out his hand, going first to really make sure this was all right, as his fingers touched the silver fur gently, the strands surprisingly soft. "Touch it, Elliot," he whispered. 

 

"Are you sure?" Elliot whispered, reaching to pet his nose. The stag tilted his horns towards him, and Elliot ran his fingers down the still velvety bases. "Thank you, you're very handsome. Thank you for keeping our secret safe here."

 

The stag let out a soft breath, almost as if it was agreeing, and looked up at Elliot. 

 

James tightened his hold around Elliot's hand. "It can be our witness, Elliot," he whispered. "I have... I have always wanted to ask if you'd like to..." he swallowed softly, "to stay with me for the rest of our lives..."

 

"Jamie?" Elliot's eyes were wide. "Really?"

 

"Yes, really." Jamie was trying hard not to let his voice waver. "I... I know I don't have much, if anything. I can't really give you anything with good quality at all, but I promise to take care of you, to protect you, and to try and make you happy with all my might." 

 

His eyes darted around. There were daisies all around and in full bloom too, and he quickly bent to pick a few up, somewhat clumsy hands trying to make something that resembled a ring out of them. 

 

"Will you?" he finally looked up to meet Elliot's gaze once more. "Stay with me?" 

 

You should already know the answer to that, Jamie," Elliot said softly. "I canna live without you, love," he admitted, accepting the ring.  
It was a crooked thing, done too fast with hands that were more used to rough chores than this, but it managed to stay intact and slid onto Elliot's fingers nonetheless, and Jamie was over the moon as he pulled his Young Master, his love, into his arms, kissing him deeply. 

 

The stag had watched all of it from a few steps away, blinking slowly and steadily, almost seemingly contented. 

 

"I love you, Jamie. With every breath," Elliot said softy.

 

***

 

Dried petals were still pressed between the pages, long gone brown.

 

"I have an idea," Q said.

 

"What is it?" James whispered softly, brushing his knuckles over Q's cheekbone.

 

"You know how they make rings, with flowers in resin?" Q whispered. "I still have the petals."

 

"Yes. That'll be beautiful." James nodded. "We can ask them to make those for us once we leave town." 

 

"Sounds perfect," Q said softly, closing the sketch book.

 

"Do you think that's why we're... bound together?" James whispered, pulling Q close. "That stag?"

 

"I don't think it was a stag," Q said softly. "I think it was the protector of the land, and still is."

 

"I don't think it was just a stag either... You're probably right. It just took the form of one to easily walk in the forest." James gazed into Q's eyes. "It let us approached it." 

 

"It did... It was our witness. I never did stop loving you," Q whispered, kissing James's knuckles.

 

"You make it sound like its witness is what keeps you from stop loving me," James teased softly, kissing and nibbling at Q's lips. "I should thank it then."

 

"I mean I never stopped loving you, and it allows me to find you again," Q smiled. "What are the odd, lifetime after lifetime? I'm glad for the help."

 

"I know. I'm just joking with you." James grinned before letting out a breath. "I think it hoped for us to stay together... then why did we kept parting lifetimes before?" 

 

"There's a song about Scotland..." Q hummed. "Something about high roads and low roads, and one partner arriving first. I think it was timing. Was there a set number of years between us meeting, or age? There must be a constant that ties it all together."

 

James thought about it for a moment. "Are you sure? I don't remember being this old the other times I met you." Like Jamie and Elliot... their ages weren't that far apart, were they?

 

"You were old enough people were scandalized you didn't have a wife," Q pointed out.

 

James snorted. "At that time? Eighteen and single was already a scandal."

 

"True," Q smiled. "My parents were already inviting families with daughters to come for dinner."

 

"I know..." James nodded, he could still remember sneaking peeks into the windows, just to see if that girl and the family itself were nice or not. "So what happened that made us meet with our age gap seemingly lengthening?" He was already nearly forty as it was, and Q couldn't be anymore than in his late twenties or something.

 

"I'm not a minor, James," Quenton laughed. "But I'm not sure. There's so much that's still a mystery."

 

"I know you're not a minor," James drawled. "I can tell." He smiled just a little teasingly. But it was true; there were so many things they didn't really. 

 

"It's just frustrating really," Q ran fingers through his messy curls. "We could be repeating all our mistakes and not know."

 

"We'll have to go through all of the journals then..." James said. It was only just a slightly daunting task, considering just how many there were, but nothing that he couldn't handle. This was nothing like doing dangerous missions and killing people after all. The thought made him realize just how many times he had come close to not ever meeting Q at all... He wasn't sure how this worked, and whether they were supposed to at least meet once first before dying off... but he had brushed so very close to death without even knowing that there was someone out there who could love him this much... many lifetimes over even. 

 

"Good thing I laid in an infinite supply of tea and firewood," Q teased. "We can go naked and conserve laundry soap," he leaned against James with a content sigh as they eyed the stacks of books... And mostly still full library shelves.

 

James laughed softly. "Good idea, although I don't want you to catch a cold, walking around naked. Not to mention the workers you said were coming to renovate the house?" 

 

"Haven't heard from them in a bit... The ghosts moved things and frightened them, and they ran screaming," Q admitted. "Bloody mess."

 

"Well, I don't blame them for being frightened." James chuckled, looking at the books himself. "We have a lot to go through, Q..." 

 

"I know..." Q picked up the next one, but once the cover was unclasped, the book was empty. The pages were cut out, and there was a box inside.

 

"What's this?" James whispered, picking up the box with a gentle hand.

 

"I don't..." Q shook his head. "I've got no idea."


	10. Chapter 10

 

"Let's find out." James opened the box and peered inside. There was but a small folded piece of paper inside. And when he opened it up, there was a long sentence, black ink faded, written in Latin. "Can you read it?" He remembered Q saying something about learning Latin. 

 

"Yes..." Q studied it for a moment. "It's a spell, 'that true love may never part ways', and... Do you think it's real?" He looked at James, barely daring to hope.

 

"I don't know, love..." James admitted. "I didn't even believe in ghosts before I came to this place." He chuckled softly. "But I don't suppose it matters whether it's real or not... as long as we believe in it." 

 

"I suppose... Let's see... Daisy leaves, blood, well, it sounds like it's tailored for us," Q shivered.

 

"It probably was," James whispered. "Maybe a past life of yours wrote it, Q." 

 

"Probably, I'm sure we'll find it in the journals," Q frowned. "The cauldron by the back door... I think this should be made in it."

 

"Just a hunch, or did it say specifically in there?" James asked curiously. 

 

"A hunch, but it said to use a copper cauldron, and stir with a branch of ash," Q said. "And those grow in the atrium."

 

James nodded. "Tomorrow, then. Or do you want to try now?" 

 

"Tomorrow... I don't want to mess it up," Q said with a smile. "It's important."

 

James nodded. "What are we doing next then?" 

 

"More journals, and more sex," Q smiled. "If that isn't too dull for you."

 

"Nothing is dull when it's with you, love," James brushed their noses together. "Okay. More journals." 

 

"Alright," Q agreed, stealing a kiss. "I'm going to find the grimoire."

 

"I'll look around the cabinets to see if there's anything in need of salvaging." James stole himself a kiss, too, and turned to do just that. 

 

Q found the brown leather book at the bottom of a stack, handmade paper in a hand sewn book.

 

James watched him out of the corner of his eyes as he went through the drawers and cabinets under the shelves, deciding that he had had enough of climbing for one day, peering in with narrowed eyes first to check for spiders or any other undesirables before reaching inside to pull out the carefully tucked away boxes out into the open, quickly giving them a wipe to push off accumulated dust and cobwebs. 

 

Mostly, they were stationary and other broken or disused objects like lamps, bulbs, wires, matches, and torches. And oddly enough, a phonograph. Edison cylinder phonograph, to be precise.

 

But one particularly well-kept box, pushed into the back of a drawer, was wooden, and James blinked before opening it. 

 

There was a notebook inside, thick and well-worn, but bound and carefully covered. Next to it were cylinders, some were rolls of camera films... some were longer and larger in size. He frowned, turning them for a moment and studying the spikes that traveled along the length of them before realizing something with a start, turning to the phonograph and reaching for it.

 

After carefully fiddling with the machine, he slid the wax cylinder on and clicked the button, praying that it would still work after all this time.

 

The phonograph wound, and sound actually came out. 

 

_ "Hello... Is this thing really recording?"  _ A strange, yet familiar voice spoke up, accompanied by a slight nervous laugh.  _ "Can't tell. We'll just have to trust that we haven't wasted our money."  _

 

"James?" Q looked up, startled. "That's... Me." He came and sat beside his lover, and flipped open the notebook.

James pulled Q together, just a little shaken. 

 

_ "Come now, we've heard the recordings of those who used this before,"  _ another voice chimed in... one he realized to be his.  _ "It must be recording. If not, I'll go back in town and return it right away."  _

 

Inside the notebooks were various of black and white photographs, all of Q, or of other names and faces he had taken through the lifetimes they had spent together... And James suddenly realized, with a pang, why he had always gravitated a little toward photography.

 

It was because he couldn't draw that he wanted to try and capture Q's image in whatever way he could... and had been over the moon when they invented cameras, saving up as much as he could to own one even, from generation to generation.

 

"I think it's mine," James whispered, looking at that photo where Q, or someone who was supposed to be him, was blearily waking up from where he had fallen asleep at a table. "I couldn't draw so well and wanted to take photos of you..."

 

_ "Say something to it,"  _ the recording continued, the voice beckoning softly.

 

_ "Hmm... I love you to forever,"  _ came the reply as James murmured the same thing under his breath. 

"This is... This must be the last one before this lifetime," Q said reverently, touching James's hand. "I was... Hmmm... Traveling, I think, when I met you, after university."

 

James nodded quietly. "I think I was just discharged from military service back then, working odd jobs or something." 

"Yes... We met at a tavern at lunch, and you offered to show me around," Q looked at the last photo, the two of them  in the 1960s with longer hair and sunglasses. "You took me to hear a band."

 

James looked at the photo and smiled a little before turning over to look at Q. "You'd look good with your hair long, too," he whispered quietly. "I think I tried to get us tickets to the Rolling Stones or something." 

 

"Yes... We ended up shagging in some attic instead," Q smiled at the memory. "God, you tasted like that home brewed beer from the tavern, and we stayed up until dawn."

 

"Well, I'd rather think that we'd had a better time there up in the attic than at the concert," James chuckled softly. "That beer was good though... but you tasted so wonderful." And as if on cue, like he couldn't quite help himself, James pressed a kiss to Q's lips. "Still do." 

 

"I couldn't have cared less about the concert," Q murmured. "I was so upset that I had to leave to start my job with civil service. I went back and looked for you, you know."

 

"I know," James nodded. "I was waiting to see if you'd be back or not," he admitted.

 

"Why couldn't I find you?" Q whispered, remembering sneaking out at dawn to catch his flight, as James still slept. "I looked that whole bank holiday weekend, and no one had seen you."

 

"That's odd, I..." James frowned. "I... I can't remember." What happened? What had happened that had stopped him from coming to see Q? He had been waiting after all...

 

"A job? An accident?" Q wondered aloud. "Let's listen to the recording."

 

James nodded, sliding the second wax cylinder in and pressed play.

 

_ "No, I'm serious... There are some people whom you should stay away from whenever you see them." _ That was him. It seemed like they were in the middle of a conversation.  _ "In this town I mean. Not that I believe in hearsay, but I have seen odd things about them, and I don't want you to get into trouble. You know?" _

 

"Odd things..." Q flipped through the journal, looking for anything that stood out.

 

_ "I saw a woman the other day..." _

 

_ "Long dark hair, right? Angela. A devout, pious woman. No rumors about her... so they say. There's always been an odd air about her though, per my personal opinion."  _

 

James's eyes widened. "She kept looking at me," he breathed. 

 

"She was a witch," Q said softly. "I remember her. She warned me about you, said the future was already written, and this turn of the wheel didn't end well."

 

"What future already written?" James muttered with a scowl. 

 

_ "Just... don't go near her. I mean, I know I probably sound like a bad person for saying that, but... no."  _

 

"I don't know, I ran into her as I was catching a cab for the airport as i left the first time," Q sighed. "And then I didn't find you again."

 

"How do you know she's a witch though?" James asked curiously. 

 

"I don't know," Q said, startled. "I know she didn't wear it then, but I could see her in a green cape, stirring a cauldron."

 

"Do you think she did something?" James murmured, a frown still creased between his brows. 

 

"I don't know if she did something, but she knew something was going to happen," Q frowned. "I wonder if you wrote about her?"

 

"If I had had such an impression... probably," James muttered, sighing. 

 

Q continued flipping through the pages, and handed James the book. "Here."

_ "Angela has been staring at me for some reason. A reason which I can't really tell. I have not done anything to her, have I? _

 

_ Or was it because of that time?  Maybe she has been acting weird since then..." _

"Did you have sex with her, maybe?" Q asked. "You've always said you favor both sexes."

"No," James shook his head quickly. "I favor both sexes, but that doesn't mean I'd just go and have sex..." He paused, blinking rapidly. "No. She was running an errand or something late at night once, and some men were teasing her. I interfered and got her home..." He frowned. "That was it." 

 

"James, we've had lives apart from each other," Q laid a hand on his arm. "I don't fault us for that, there's been hundreds of lonely nights. I'm only glad we're here now."

"I know," James said, looking at Q. "But I'm telling you. I didn't have sex with her, or I would have admitted it."

"I believe you," Q said simply. "I just know we have pasts that don't include each other, and I'd rather know about you."

James sighed and nodded, growing quiet for a long moment. 

 

Eventually, he said, "I did have sex with other people," voice soft. Q had been nothing but honest and sincere. There was no reason why he shouldn't just tell him this. "None that turned out well for me." 

 

"Me either," Q shook his head. "I mean I got off, but..." He shivered. "It wasn't you."

 

James smiled softly, recalling the conversation they had had before... before all this frankly. "Now I know why all my other relationships were such a sham..." He chuckled quietly, shaking his head.

"It was just best avoided after awhile," Q nodded. "Easier to pull at a bar and get off, rather than keep hurting people."

"I guess, subconsciously, I was searching for you, or for what I thought was similar to you without realizing it," James whispered. "I was... in a relationship with another artist, too... But I found out he was just sleeping with me for the publicity, so..." The man shrugged with a smile. "I'm glad I finally find you after all."

"Happens to the best of us," Q grinned. "Eve is my public date for media events."

James smiled softly and leaned in to steal a kiss. "I expect the arrangement to stop, now that I'm in the picture," he said with a small smirk, half-teasing, half-serious.

"Well, as long as you want to be seen with a half blind gimp of an artist," Q smiled. "I'm not really media fodder."

"Well, I am ready to be seen with a gorgeous and talented young man," James said softly. "Who wouldn't?" He smiled, brushing their noses together.

 

"Most of gay England," Q smiled, slightly awed at the affection. "Especially after my accident."

James snorted. "As if. Gay England is mad then," he decided. "Mad and blind. But well, more for me," he smiled, stroking Q's face. "I'm not about to let anyone else touch you."

"I don't want anyone else to touch me again," Q shook his head. "I'm perfectly content."

 

"As am I," James agreed, pressing a kiss to Q's forehead.

"I wonder if at some point we'll remember it all," Q said thoughtfully. "Once we piece it together."

"Maybe," James said. "Although that would be a little confusing."

"We'll find out," Q said softly as the phonograph turned. "Turn up the volume?"

"Rewind a bit, I think I missed something," Q asked.

James did, carefully handling the wax cylinder, and pressed play once more.

_ "It scared me," Q's voice said from the recording. "All that talk of fate. I know I don't have right to ask you to wait for me, but I'll be back as soon as I can." _

 

_ "You have every right," What was to be James's voice replied. "I know that we all have our own callings. I don't blame you... Focus on finishing your work first, then come back. I'll wait. Don't worry." _

_ "I don't want to go," he said softly. "I've reserved this same room for the next three day bank holiday, there will be keys waiting. Meet me here." _

_ "You're like my sugar daddy," James teased softly. "Finish your duties first, darling. I'll be there waiting. Don't worry about a thing." _

"Fate..." Q sighed softly. "Damn fate. What happened while I was in London?"

"I don't know either," James sighed as the recording ended. He took it out and placed it back into its casing. "I really can't recall..."

"Me either," Q shook his head. "Will any of the others play?"

"We can try them all," James took all the records out, and set the ones they had listened to the side, and played the rest to see if the others played, too.

Q flipped through the journal. "You write about meeting me, our time together. You even have a few of my letters folded in here. But then it just stops," he sighed.

"If something happened to me, like an accident or something, you probably would have written it down or recorded it because there's bound to have been someone who knew whatever happened to me," James said. "If you didn't... or didn't find out about anything... it smells suspicious like a kidnapping almost." He frowned.

"Before the odd jobs... What did you do?" Q asked softly.

James thought about it for a moment. "Well, I was trying to be an investigator, or a detective, of sort. Someone who would have the power to investigate cases and do so fairly, too... But my mum got sick, so I dropped that after I couldn't handle the tuition fee along with textbooks and her medical fee... She passed away soon afterward, then I got drafted. When they discharged me, I have no degree, basically nothing but a bit of fund from service. So I started doing odd jobs, trying to figure out if I was too tired to give a damn about trying to study anymore."

"Ah, ok," Q nodded. "Was there anyone here you remember when you returned, from investigations?"

"You mean, now?" James frowned before shaking his head slowly. "I have no idea." He hadn't even been aware that he should be able to know anyone here at all, let alone remembering them.

"No, I meant from before you were drafted, when you returned," Q clarified.

James frowned. "They were all the same townsfolk, I guess... Some travellers... some just went away."

"Ah well..." he shrugged. "I don't hear anything of note on these rolls, other than our own porn noises."

James laughed. "Well, I wasn't the one who recorded them, love."

"Ah," Q gave him a sheepish laugh. "It is romantic, I admit. Just not much help for a history search."

James hummed. "True, the sound of your moans is romantic." He grinned, kissing Q's lips.

"I love how you sounded, saying my name," Q said. "I never thought Lawrence was romantic before."

"Any name can be romanticized, as long as it's your lover's name,  _ Quentin _ ," James purred, kissing those lips. 

Q sighed into the kiss, quite content to be distracted. Their own voices in the background, with the fervent love making sounds, were a pleasant soundtrack.

 

Eventually, they parted and James laid their foreheads against one another. "Finally meeting you make me wonder how I could have tolerated any other person," he said quietly. 

"I know," Q shivered. "It's so much... More." His counterpart on the recording chose that moment to orgasm with a yell, and Q burst into laughter.

 

James joined in the laugh. "He seems to have gotten the answer." The man chuckled.

 

"Gods, we were so young, most of the times," Q said. "So inexperienced, so idealistic. Maybe that's what it takes to truly find your soulmate."

"Well, we're neither young nor idealistic right now," James said softly, nosing Q's curls, "We still found one another just fine." 

"That's true, and the way you say my name still makes me shiver," Q smiled. He put their palms together, his fingers longer, but James's more muscular.

"Artist's hand," James smiled, watching the way their palms were pressed against one another. "They've always been so lovely." 

Q blushed. "I've never done practical work, have I? Journaling, herbs, medicine, drawing."

"Good work is good work, Q," James said. "As long as you enjoy it... there's nothing wrong with those professions. Most of my life... lives... I spent in the military, anyway. Sometimes... I lost track of what I was trying to protect... Until, of course, I remember you." He smiled softly.

"You won't get tired of me?" Q asked, threading a hand into James's jumper collar.

"Never," James said in a determined voice, firm and steady. "Lifetimes have already past, and I've ever once love you any less than what you deserve."

"You won't be bored without the army though? You've always had a wandering streak, Jamie."

"I'll do just fine with you by my side now, Elliot," James whispered. "I've always wandered about because I couldn't find my home... you."

"You're too sweet," Q murmured, pulling James down beside him next to the fire. "I think I'd like more sweet nothings, for the rest of the evening," he said into James's skin.

"Only for you," James smiled as he pulled Q on top of him, acting as a cushion and insulation from the hard floor. "Sweet nothings or not, these are all the truth: you're beautiful and talented and so, so good to me," he whispered into Q's ear, stroking gently through the dark, thick curls.

"I like the flattery, I think I'm developing a praise kink," Q blushed as he laid against his chest.

"I told you. No flattery; just truths." James pressed a kiss to Q's forehead. "I love your skin. It's always been paper thin, though, and bleeds so easily." He brought Q's hand up and kissed the knuckles. "That's why I always want to protect you... almost to the point of not letting your feet touch the ground."

"Oh stop, I'm not that awful," Q protested. "I do wish you'd been around for rehab, that blasted walker was bloody awful. You would have come in handy."

 

"I know," James said with a sigh, regretting it himself. "I know you're stronger than you look, probably stronger than me when you set your mind on something... but can you blame me? I just want to swaddle you up in blankets and protect you from all harm."

"I could use a little of that, much as I hate to admit it," Q said softly. "It's been a rough go round lately, and I can use some tenderness and care."

"You should have tenderness and care all the time," James said firmly. "But we're here together now... and I'll take care of you."

"As long as you allow me to do the same," Q said. "Whatever I can do, cooking, reading to you while you work."

"And I can do the same for you, too, although I can't guarantee edible food." He chuckled softly.

"Let me do the food, and you can carry things, less chance of death that day on either count," Q laughed.

James snorted, playful himself. "I've never made food bad enough that give people food poisoning, I have you know," he said in a mild, indignant tone, despite the grin on his lips.

"I think I've only injured myself with home repairs, but these are big projects," Q laughed. "I'll bake bread, thanks. I've given myself more than one black thumb hanging pictures with a hammer."

James winced. "I'm never letting you go near any tools again except for those you can operate without hurting yourself."

"Stuck with blenders and food processors then, I'm afraid," Q smiled. "Can't even unjam the stapler."

"I'm doing all that for you," James said, determined, as he stroked Q's hair gently. "What's a lover for?" He chuckled.

"Blow jobs and calling off work for lazy mornings in?" Q asked cheekily.

"So you only expect blowjobs from me?" James countered, grinning.


	11. Chapter 11

"Lots of lazy mornings, too," Q grinned. "Its why I have an electric kettle by the bed."

"Just the mornings seem so short," James chuckled. "And electric kettle or not, one of us still have to get up." He brushed their noses together.

"Ugh, spoil my day dreams," Q protested with a smile. "How about long, hot baths, and firelit dancing?"

"And stargazing from the balcony, enjoying good books with hot tea and biscuits, curling up in blankets by the fire?" James continued, gazing into Q's eyes fondly.

"Definitely a bonus," Q smiled, tracing his hand over James's shoulders, tight and muscled. "You're definitely better than my day dream lovers in my stories," he said.

 

"Of course," James said with a wink.

 

"So how can I reward you for the rest of the evening?" Q purred, straddling James. "Food, drink, dance, name what you'd like."

"You?" James smiled. "I'll take everything you're willing to offer me."

"Well then, you'll just have to tell me what you want," Q kissed him. "Anything for you, Jamie, you know that."

"I know," James nuzzled Q, holding him close. "Just stay with me... That's all I want."

"Sounds wonderful," he replied, warm in James's arms, tracing the muscles. "I think the rain is stopping finally," he added. "Not much incentive to get dressed and be productive tomorrow though."

"I know," James sighed, hand trailing down along Q's back. "I find myself unwilling to let you go."

"Well maybe an extra day to let things dry, and then I can come with you," Q offered. "We have the spell to do tomorrow, anyway."

"Not unless it starts raining again." James chuckled and nodded. "But of course. Just tell me whenever you want to leave."

"Well I'll never complain about more time with you, it's far too precious of a commodity," Q smiled.

"Me neither." James hummed, nosing Q's curls.

"So, now that we've done our research, and I've fed you... I can enjoy you for the evening," Q smiled as he enjoyed laying on James's shoulder. "Tell me about what you did this life?"

 

"Yes, I'm a very happy, well-fed man." James chuckled as he held Q close, throwing the blanket from before over them both. "And you can enjoy me anytime you want." He leaned in and kissed Q's cheek. "Well... wandering about like you said mostly... My parents died in a climbing accident when I was eleven, and since then, I've been floating around mostly. I did manage to get into a college, but they kicked me out for misbehaving, then I signed up for the Royal Navy." He shrugged. "Nothing to boast or be proud about, to be honest."

"And after the Navy?" Q asked. "Or I won't ask if it's not something you want to talk about, just tell me."

James shook his head. "Nothing to hide from you," he said quietly. "Like I told you, I wandered, trying to find a job. My friend, Alec, contacted me about a job at a newspaper... And well, since I've gotten nothing better to do anyway, I applied and they accepted me. I started out writing for a small Sport column... then eventually moving on to writing about LGBT rights, about artists, particularly." 

 

He took in a breath and sighed. "I met this guy... Vincent, while I was meeting young, aspiring artists to write about them. And I guess we hit it off for a while... Until I came back to the flat early one day just enough to catch him leaving down the streets from the window. Didn't bring his mobile with him. So I followed, planning for a surprise, before getting surprised myself." He chuckled softly. "I caught him kissing another woman. How stupid is that?" James shook his head. "I ended it then became a freelance, chasing after stories and trying to uncover the truth behind them."

"That's awful, I'm sorry," Q frowned. "At least I've only had unfulfilling one night stands, and no outright betrayal. I'm surprised we never met though, I taught art classes at the gay and lesbian center in London. It gave me a way to do something meaningful with my off time, and also interact with some humans who weren't quite so intimidating."

It was odd that they hadn't met before, too, and James frowned, stroking through Q's hair. "Ever received any ask for permission to interview you that you happened to be unable to attend?"

"I didn't really handle that," he admitted. "Eve would make me go to things occasionally, or have them email interview questions and type my responses while I dictated. I was a bit overwhelmed with being so recognizable all of a sudden, especially in the queer community. I think the last event I went to was a charity auction."

James perked up a little at that. "When?" he breathed. "May?"

"Yes, I got auctioned off to spend the day with a disabled child who liked to draw, it was actually a lot of fun. I still email him," Q smiled. "Tarek is very talented, and he doesn't let his legs not working slow him down at all. Wait, were you at the dinner?" he asked. "I don't think I paid much attention to the press section, I'm sorry."

James shook his head. "I didn't make it to dinner because of a flat tire... but a colleague of mine stood in for me. She sent me a list of artists to interview afterward... I think your name was on it."

"You might have talked to Eve then, or gotten an email," Q shrugged. "I'm sorry, it was right before the accident, and a lot of things got misplaced. It was actually very good that I met Tarek then, he was an inspiration for my recovery progress. How could I give up when he looked up to me?"

James nodded, wrapping his arms around Q. "I'm just sorry that I couldn't have been there for you when you probably needed my support most."

"My life is much better now, especially with you here," Q smiled and nuzzled his scruff on his chin. "You smell good."

"Because I've been unable to let you go for nearly the entire day," James smiled, nosing Q's curls in return.

"We smell like sex and sweat then," Q laughed, enjoying the closeness of his lover and the warm brush of their skin. "It feels so good just to lie here with you, not dread sleeping alone tonight."

"You're not sleeping alone again as far as I can help it." James kissed Q's forehead, lips brushing at his hairline.

"Nope," Q agreed, sticking his bare feet in front of the fire and stretching against James. "This fire is finally taking the chill out of me, I've had enough of this rain, makes me ache in a bad way."

"That's good," James whispered, stroking up and down Q's back before settling his hand gently over the small of the younger man's back, right over his birthmark. "Tell me if you need a massage. I'll be more than happy to give you one."

"Oh, that sounds so good," Q groaned. "I'd love one once we go to bed, if you aren't too tired. I need to stretch my back as well."

"Of course. Anything for you," James said. "Come on, then. Shall I carry you to bed?" He smiled.

"Don't be silly," Q laughed, his back making a rather unpleasant noise as he stood. "I can at least walk for myself now."

"I know you can, I just want to do it." He winced at the sound, sympathetic. His damaged knees made those noises, too, sometimes. "So... shall I?" He smiled widely.

"Actually, that sounds really good," Q confessed. "I should lie on a pillow from now on if we sit on the floor."

"Duly noted," James said and picked Q up carefully into his arms in one swift move. "Now. Off to bed with you."

"Only if you come," Q smiled and wrapped his arms around James's neck. James took care not to jar him on the staircase, and placed him down gently on the covers, before settling next to him.

"Now, turn over for me, my prince," James said with a smile. "I'll give you a good back rub."

"Mmm, I could get so spoiled by this," Q admitted, rolling over and stretching. "You certainly do treat me like one."

"Because you are and I am fully intending on pampering you." James smiled. "Now, do you happen to have some lotion, or massage oil? If not, we can substitute it with a bit of olive oil."

"There's some in the drawer," Q pointed. "I use it when I get cramps at night, it warms up."

James hummed. That should be good enough, he thought, reaching and finding the pot as instructed. He set it down on the bed before focusing back on Q. "If you don't mind me stripping you then, my prince," he smiled.

Q blushed and nodded, not used to all of the attention. James was more like one of the characters that he'd imagined in his comics he drew in his off time, a strong, handsome man coming to save the nerdy artist, and give him a ... "That's it!" He sat up suddenly. "I was trying to figure out the translation of the spell name! 'felices in aeternum' , it means happily ever after."

Surprised, James blinked at Q. "Like the endings of Disney's fairy tales, you mean?" He sobered up quickly enough. "So it really is there to try and help us?"

"I... I think so," Q said. "I've always been a romantic though, so if I wrote it... Chances are I named it something that sentimental," Q stole a kiss.

"I love the sentiment," James said with a soft smile, leaning into the kiss. "Come on. Let me get that sweater off of you."

"Alright," Q's voice emerged from the jumper, and all that was visible were his hair and hands as James helped him slide it off.

James chuckled. It was an endearing right as he pulled the jumper off of Q entirely, kissing the ruffled curls. "Lie down for me?" he murmured against his lover's lips.

"Mmm hmm," Q folded his glasses on the night stand and snuggled into the soft bed, smiling at James's care of him.

Now that Q was bare before him, James smoothed a hand down his back with a smile before opening up the pot of cream, getting some between his hand to warm it up first before descending on the knots in the younger man's muscles, kneading and working them out in an even pressure.

"That's so good," Q groaned. "I might be able to walk decently tomorrow."

James smiled, even as seeing the littered scars made him stomach twist. "Even if you can, I still want to carry you. You only need to ask." He pressed a kiss behind Q's ear. "I'll give you as many massages as necessary to help you recover," he promised.

"It's not... It's as good as it's going to get, Jamie," Q sighed, and turned away, throat thick. "It will always be there, always hurt."

"I know," James leaned down to kiss Q's cheek. "I know it'll always be there, I have no delusion about that... I just want for you to feel better... as good as it's going to get with me here now to help you and take care of you," he whispered quietly.

"You're doing a wonderful job," Q smiled softly. "Just your hands touching me feel good, distract me. But you give a brilliant massage as well.”

 

"That's good," James breathed, his thumbs pressing gently down on a particularly persistent knot. "At least I feel like I'm actually helping you." 

 

“It's wonderful," Q leaned into his hands. "There isn't a therapist in town, and I've been achy with all the rain. I did try calling one massage place, but I hung up when they told me there was an additional charge for a happy ending."

A happy ending," James snorted with a raised eyebrow. "Well, not to worry about that anymore. I'm here." His hands trailed down to Q's lower back, massaging in synchronization as he gave Q's birthmark a soft kiss first before his thumbs kneaded the muscles there also.

"Ow, a little softer," Q winced. "I'm sorry, the nerves there give me trouble. It feels like hot knives."

"Oh, sorry," James immediately adjusted the pressure, slower and gentler, watching Q carefully. "Better?"

"Yes, sorry..." Q took a few deep breaths. "I hate how those nerves knot."

"Don't apologize," James said, moving away from the area for a bit to let Q adjust and allow the pain some time to pass. "Just tell me whenever it hurts. I'll memorize the spot and lessen the pressure."

"You're too sweet," Q murmured, relaxing into the warm hands. "It's more my sciatic nerves, from taking the impact."

 

James hummed, indicating that he was listening. "I'll remember to be careful then." He nuzzled Q's curls.

"Come lay with me?" Q asked with a smile, pulling James next to him. "You're so warm, it's very comforting."

 

"You don't want me to help massage your legs?" James asked quietly.

"Well, can you do that and be closer?" Q asked hopefully.

James hummed and settled between Q's legs before massaging them. "How about this?"

"Good," Q smiled down at him happily. "You'll spoil me terribly though, ruin me for life."

"Not to worry," James said with a chuckle. "I'll be there to take full responsibility."

"Alright then, since you get the fallout," Q smiled happily and relaxed.

James smiled, picking up Q's foot and pressing a kiss to the center of it before carefully massaging it as well, knowing a lot of nerves ran through there. It was a sensitive area.

Q groaned, caught somewhere between a tickle and relief. "That's good," he murmured.

James smiled. "Glad you like it." He pressed into the center of Q's foot before moving outward. 

 

Q groaned softly and went limp. "That feels amazing, can you do that with my hands?"

"Of course, darling," James continued massaging Q's feet for some time more before lowering them down gently. Done, he pulled the blanket up to crawled up to lie down next Q and took one of his hands into his hold, massaging it gently.

"You really are prince charming," Q curled against his chest with a sleepy smile.

James chuckled and shook his head. "You're my prince, and I'll be your knight." He winked.

"Alright, Sir Knight," Q smiled. "I accept being your prince, as long as it means I can take care of you."

"Of course you have to accept it," James teased, kissing Q's lips. "But yes, just don't try too hard to do it. Look after yourself, too."

"I'll learn to do better," Q smiled. "We both will. A little more care for ourselves will help us take better care of each other."

With a sigh, James nodded. "Okay," he smiled. "Now, give me your other hand." 

 

"You could use it too... it sounds rather like you have no home base," Q said, stretching out his other hand.

"I have a flat that I frequent sometimes like I told you." James chuckled, taking that hand gently in his hold.

"You didn't seem too attached," Q laughed. "Although maybe I can make it a bit homier for us, if we spend a decent amount of time between there and Skyfall."

"Sounds good," James hummed. "So we're leaving this place behind, right?" 

 

"I think so," Q nodded. "The ghosts can have their halls again, and we can live at Skyfall. I wonder if it has potential as a bed and breakfast."

"It can if we can convince the ghosts to not scare people away... and that the townsfolk don't keep telling tourists that this place is haunted." James chuckled.

"I meant Skyfall," Q giggled. "But using both might be a considerable nest egg for retirement. Who knows, we can advertise it as haunted and cater to the paranormal crowd, get featured on one of those ghost hunting shows, or something."

James nodded. "True. Although Skyfall may need renovations, too. And we'll have to set up security around here to make sure no enthusiast will try to break in while it's not business hours." he grinned.

"Yes, more lists," Q wove their fingers together and brushed his lips against James's mouth. "You feel so good," he murmured.

"So do you," James sighed, sucking on Q's lips with a smile.

"James?" Q murmured. "Will you hold me while we sleep?"

 

"Of course," James whispered, already gathering Q close, pulling the blanket up closer around them. "I'll hold you even when we're awake." 

 

"I think I quite like having a personal knight," Q snuggled into James and kissed his hands. "So tomorrow we do our spell, and then brave the village. I need to get some tea while we're there,I'm running low. I swear I just bought a tin, but things end up odd places here. My Earl Grey got swapped for chamomile."

 

"Well... I approve of that then. Chamomile to help you relax and sleep better," James muttered, pressing a kiss to Q's curls. 

 

"I didn't sleep well before you came," Q admitted. "But it was hell on my mornings."

 

"I'm here now," James whispered. "I'll take care of you, I will... so sleep, lover. Rest."

 

"Yes, darling," Q curled into him with a sleepy murmur.

 

***

 

Morning was all to early, as far as Q was concerned, especially when the sun shone in his eyes. There was a giggle in the hall, and the sound of feet.

 

Q opened his eyes to a tray of tea and toast.

 

"Morning," James said from where he was setting the tea and toast down. "I think the house is making fun of me for burning just one toast," he said those two words a bit louder than before, looking over his shoulder. 

 

More giggles came before it dissipated. 

 

Gabriel chuckled and put on his glasses. "You should have seen the time I boiled water and forgot it. There were mugs of tea everywhere I turned."

 

"Oh God," James chuckled. "How are you feeling this morning though?" He smiled at Q.

 

"Wonderful," Q smiled. "But I'd be even better if you were in bed with me," he pulled back the covers for James to join him.

 

James smiled and sidled in, balancing the tray on their laps. "So, I found jam, marmalade, and butter. And of course, chamomile tea." He smiled.

 

"Ugh!" Q groaned. "Of course you did. So we really do have to go into town," he snuggled against James's side. "After sex?" He asked hopefully, brown eyes wide.

 

That had James laughing. "Who am I to disapprove such a good plan?" He kissed Q's forehead.

 

Q smiled happily and curled into James to enjoy the toast at least, making a disapproving face at the tea. "I can't believe you got up early to do this for me," he said softly.

 

"I'm usually up early anyway when I'm not tired." He smiled, feeding Q a bit of toast. "And of course I have to take good care of my prince." He grinned. "I feel like I'm more of the dragon that keeps you hidden inside the high tower."

 

"I'm quite happy to be hidden away as dragon treasure," Q smiled, content in James's arms.

 

James hummed. "And dragons are very possessive of their treasures." He turned to caress Q's cheek. "Especially the most precious one." 

 

"Good," Q smiled. "I feel quite treasured and safe," he nuzzled James's hand and pulled him down closer for a kiss, slow and sweet.

 

James sighed into it, smiling still, his fingertips running along Q's jawline up to his hairline, slipping in to massage his scalp.

 

"Too good to me," Q murmured, pulling at James's sleep pants to reach the warmth of his skin. "I want to feel you."

 

His hand brushed over James's hip where the birthmark was, and the man let out a soft breath. "Just a second," he said, quickly depositing the tray onto the bedside table before turning back to kiss Q's lips thoroughly.  
"James," Q murmured, running his fingertips over the birthmark. James's kiss was consuming, and Q moaned softly, pressing their hips together.

 

That only heightened their growing hard on, and James groaned, rolling his hips, nuzzling Q's neck, hands skimming down along the slender body. 

 

"James, James... Take me, please?" Q murmured, cock already aching. "I need you," he whispered, holding James as close as he could.

 

"Okay," James breathed. "Okay, but let me prepare you first." He kissed at Q's throat, his bare body making it nearly impossible for James to keep his composure. He reached for the drawer, knowing he had seen some lube in that one just the night before, and took out the bottle with a triumphant smile. 

 

He turned back to start assaulting Q's nipple with his mouth, rubbing lube between his finger and reaching down to circle a pad around the younger man's entrance. 

 

"Please," Q begged, delirious with want as James teased at his opening. "You'll make me come..." He moaned, grabbing for James.

 

"Shh... I'm right here." James smiled, kissing Q deeply as he pushed his finger inside. It seemed that Q was still a little loose from the day before, but that didn't mean James was going to take this too quickly. 

 

Q melted into the kiss with a hungry moan, fingers tangled in James's hair. James had found the same rhythm with his tongue as with his finger, and it left Q hungry for more.


	12. Chapter 12

Grinding their bodies together, James eventually added a second finger, scissoring them inside of Q. 

 

Q arched against him, moaning softly, dripping precum between them. "Enough, I'm ready," he gasped, reaching for James's cock with a lube slicked hand.

 

Jame groaned, hips jutting into Q's hand. "All right," he chuckled, pressing a kiss to those lips before positioning himself and slid in, groaning at the gripping heat of his lover. "Gods, you feel so good." 

 

"Not as good as you do," Q moaned, clenching around him. "You always make me feel like a teenager, about to go off at a single touch."

 

"You're taking the words right out of my mouth, Q," James groaned, Q gripping tight around him, as he continued pushing inside. 

 

"We're making up for lost time," Q smiled,  massaging James's shoulders. "All the times we were teenagers and didn't have sex."

 

James laughed softly. "Somehow, hearing you say that makes me wonder if we would have gone at it like rabbits if we had." 

 

"Don't all teenagers?" Q laughed. "I went through enough lube being single, it's a wonder I don't have wrist trouble... Oh. Right there, James, gods..."

 

"Oh, love, nature wouldn't have designed it as much if that had given you wrist trouble." James grinned before grunting as he angled his thrusts to meet Q's prostate. 

 

"Well, but it's so much better with you,"  Q said with a sigh. "Your hands, so strong, so talented."

 

James snorted, "I hardly think my hands are as talented as yours." He smiled, hitching Q's hips up with his hand under the small of his lover's back. 

 

Q cried out against his mouth at the change in angle and shivered in James's hands. "Oh no, far better than I am. I wish I was half as strong."

 

"Brute strength is nothing, love," James whispered, pressing a kiss to Q's forehead. "Sometimes, I myself wish I was half as talented as you are." He smiled.

 

"No, your hands are the real magic in this relationship," Q murmured against his neck. "I'm so close, just a..." he tweaked Bond's nipple.

 

James grunted, arching into that touch, arching into Q's gripping heat. "You give me more credit than I deserve," he moaned. "Should give you massages everyday then." He grinned teasingly. 

 

"I wasn't speaking about your massages," he touched Bond's hands on his arse. "I meant when you touch me, whether it's sex or just a touch."

 

James chuckled. "I know, love," he kissed Q's lips. "I'm just teasing you." He gave Q's arse a bit of a pinch. 

 

"Ooh," Q groaned, the pinch sending a cool shiver through him. He palmed his cock with a wink at James.

 

"God, you're too sexy," James growled, sucking a bruise into Q's neck. 

 

Q yelped at the bite and melted under James, holding on to his lover as the orgasm washed over him in waves.

 

The clench sent waves of pleasure rolling through him as well, and James bucked sharply, coming with a grunt himself as he braced himself on the bed, just so he wouldn't press down too much onto Q.

 

"You're wonderful," Q kissed him, leaning up to hook his arms around James's neck. "Stay for a bit?"

 

"Where else would I be?" James hummed, kissing Q's nose. 

 

"I don't know, I just don't want you to leave," Q smiled.

 

Something softened in James's gaze at that, and he smiled back. "I'm not, darling," he said softly. "I'm not." 

Q nodded and relaxed at that, content to let James hold him. "Is there more toast?" He asked hopefully after a bit.

 

"Of course," James chuckled, reaching for napkins and quickly cleaning them both up. "Hungry after a little work out?" the man teased. 

 

"You found my favorite marmalade," Q admitted with a smile, curling into him with a happy sigh as he sipped the tea. "Not half bad after i'm already awake," he said contentedly, wriggling his toes against James's leg.

 

James chuckled, wiggling his toes tight back. "Good... I even found gooseberry jam. That's a rare find nowadays." He smiled. 

 

James chuckled, wiggling his toes tight back. "Good... I even found gooseberry jam. That's a rare find nowadays." He smiled. 

 

"Oh, I hadn't seen that," Q groaned happily. "I might need toast for tea time as well. I was thinking about making stew for dinner."

 

"Oh yes, that sounds lovely." James hummed, the gooseberry balance of sweet and sour, smelling to light on his tongue. He offered a piece to Q.

 

"I'll get something besides root vegetables in town," Q said. "I was thinking of chicken and dumplings, or maybe pasta alfredo."

 

"Oh, I can help with that at least," James chuckled. "Pasta is one of the few things I can actually do."

 

"Oh, I wasn’t going to use noodles from a box," Q smiled. "But I can show you? Its only flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt."

 

James nodded, eager. "I'll knead it for you if it's required." 

 

"Well, it only gets mixed and then refrigerated to set, and then you can help roll it out. I can make garlic knots too though, and you can knead that for me, but you have to promise you'll eat an equal amount. I don't want to offend you with my kisses," he leaned back into James's arms.

 

James laughed. "That's the least of our problems on my mind right now, darling. If you can kiss me way back during the late 1700s, I can kiss you after eating garlic."

 

"Oh, I think I can remember how," Q murmured, looping his arms around James's neck and sighing against his lips. "As long as you can remember how to kiss me back, it's good incentive," he sucked on Bond's bottom lip and hummed.

 

James smiled, pressing their lips together. "I have no reason to not kiss you back."

 

Q just sighed into the kiss, adding a gentle caress of tongue as he plundered James's mouth. He finally sat back to catch his breath and gave James a rather sleepy smile.

 

"You look like a very contented cat," James chuckled, stroking through Q's hair before letting his thumb down to brush over Q's lips. 

 

"Very contented, yes," Q leaned into him. "And you're always calling me a cat," he stretched against James, making a purring sound. "I've no idea why."

 

"Aside from your purring and looking like a sleepy feline sometimes, I don't know why either," James teased, stroking up and down Q's back as he put the tray away once more. 

 

"Well I do rather like to be petted," Q luxuriated under the warm hands. "You won't find me complaining about you touching me anytime soon."

 

"I'll be surprised if you do." James turned to look at Q, a fond smile on his lips. "Gods, look at you. So gorgeous," he said, pressing a quick kiss to the other man's lips. 

 

Q blushed and hid his head against James's chest, only peeking out to steal a kiss. He closed his eyes and made the purring sound again, partly to please James, and partly because he felt so content it was appropriate.

 

Q really was like a cat, James deemed, watching with mirthful amusement at the red that tinged his lover's cheeks and how shyly he was, just hiding away and stealing a kiss, before starting to purr again. James grinned. 

 

"Good, kitty," he teased, patting Q's arse a little. 

 

"You keep that up, I'll expect a collar," Q said softly, eyes warm at the idea. He shivered a little at James's pet name.

 

"I thought cats usually don't enjoy collars that much." James smiled, kissing between Q's brows. 

 

"Well, pretty boys who like being treated like spoiled princes might," Q blushed redder.

 

Pausing a little, James carded his hair gently through Q's hair. "You would like that?" he asked quietly.

 

"Yes," Q whispered softly. "And maybe a tail?"

 

James smiled, kissing Q's forehead. "Let's go shopping once we swing back to London," he said softly, tucking a stray lock of hair away and out of Q's eyes. "Then you can choose whatever you want." 

 

"You won't laugh at me?" Quentin asked softly.

 

"Of course not," James replied, seeing the insecurity and trying to ease it. "Nothing about that warrants a laugh." 

 

"Only to you," Q sighed and pressed closer. "I got beat up for it at Halloween a couple of years ago."

 

James's expression darkened as he held tightly onto Q, burying his face into the curls of dark hair. "By immature brats who don't bloody have a life, I'm sure." he growled, stroking up and down the back of Q's head. "I'm sure anyone capable of higher thinking will see nothing wrong with it."

 

"You really are perfect, Jamie," Q said softly, the nickname falling unheeded from his lips.

 

"Only to you," James smiled with a soft sigh tailing after it. "I'll take good care of you from now on," he said, stroking a hand up and down Q's shoulder-blades. "No one will hurt you anymore, not if I can help it."

 

"I'm not worried," Q said, taking the opportunity to knead at Bond's chest with his fingers.

 

James chuckled, watching and feeling Q's fingers on his skin. "You really are like a cat."

 

"I am, but... Not everyone liked it, so..." Quentin sighed. "I didn't want to go to fetish parties after the accident, and everywhere else gave me odd looks. So I stayed home. It wasn't the sort of thing you tell on a first date."

 

"Well, this isn't our first date, and our relationship is not one of just a dating nature either," James soothed. "So you're safe with me."

 

Quentin gave him a bright smile and curled up closer. "Thank you, I know, and I'm quite glad. I've never felt so safe."

 

"Good," James said, humming. "You're so warm," he said, nosing Q. "And you smell like us."

 

"I like it," Quentin said softly. "Smelling like us is amazing. We've never been together enough time for it to happen."

 

"I'm making a point to have you this rumbled as often as we can," James continued to hum softly. "And we can keep smelling like the both of us for as much as we can." He kissed Quentin's forehead over and over again. "I love you." 

 

"I like that plan," Quentin smiled broadly. "I suppose we should get up, although I'm quite content to lay here."

 

"I don't know," James said with a playful tone. "Should we get up?" 

 

"No, kittens like lazy mornings," Q wiggled and curled back up. "But we do need tea... And to see the county records."

 

"We had tea," James pointed out. "You just want some Earl Grey for more caffeine." He raised an eyebrow at Q, an amused smile tugging at his lips. 

 

"Yes, I'm horribly unmotivated without it," Q smiled. "Just want to laze about in bed all day."

"I know," James hummed. "I just want to hold you for as long as I can..." He nuzzled Q.

 

"That's more than fine," Q snuggled into him and wrapped the covers around them both.

"Hopefully, it's not going to rain again tomorrow," James said suddenly.

"Why?" The glasses peeked out from the covers. "Damn... We should probably get things done."

James sighed. "I know." He nodded.

"As long as my protest is duly noted," Quentin grinned and threw back the covers. "Warm shower sounds good anyway."

"Of course." And James got up, leading them both into the bathroom, just quickly enough so the slight chill wouldn't catch up to them. 

 

Once inside with the door closed, he turned the shower on to let it warm up first, feeling steam starting to fan out all over. "Come on. Before the hot water runs out."

"Mmm," Q nodded with a mouth full of toothpaste. "Wow, I haven't felt this good in the morning in ages."

"Good," James smiled, washing his mouth first before pressing a chaste kiss at the back of Q's neck. "I'll give you a massage every night." 

 

"No, that's... Insane," Q smiled brightly. "I'm sure just when I overdo it is more than enough."

 

"It's not," James protested. "Not a full massage, maybe, just where you think is aching. But when you have been working too hard, I'll insist on it."

"Alright, I'll try to be grateful," Q smiled. "I just feel like that's taking advantage."

" _ I _ am offering it, Quentin," James said gently, looping his arms around the younger man, bringing their bodies together. "There's no advantage here to take, especially when I enjoy taking care of you as much as you do me."

Quentin nodded and reached for the soap, lathering it over James's chest and arms. "I'll get used to it, I promise. I'm just not use to having something done for me without ulterior motives."

"We'll get used to having one another soon," James said, alternating the soap between them. 

 

"I don't ever want to take it for granted," Q said, rinsing off. "And I don't think the novelty will ever wear away."

"I know," James murmured, carding a hand through Q's wet hair. "I promise to appreciate you with everything I have."

"I have no doubt," Quentin smiled shyly, and pressed a kiss to James's cheek. "I hope they aren't homophobic in town, I've only ever gone alone."

 

"Sod them if they're homophobic," James nearly growled. "We're not planning on staying here permanently anyway."

"I know, I just don't like small minded small town people," Quentin shivered. "They seem to think they have to be so hateful."

"It's because their world is so small that their minds are small." James huffed, gathering Quentin into his arms. 

 

"I suppose; I just don't understand expending so much energy on being mean," Quentin sighed. "I've met wonderful people in small towns as well, it seems to be a voluntary choice."

"It is. But most of them are only willing to keep the ideals they have known and been taught as young, and don't really like adapting." James sighed himself. "Mostly like many of the people we've encountered before." 

 

"Yes, and it's a damn shame," Q shook his head. "Anyway, let's hope for a peaceful, productive day. I'd love to get those records from the county office and then be back here in time to make supper. Although we do need to get a move on."

James nodded, reaching for towels to dry Q and himself before ushering them back out to the bedroom. "I really need to move my things here," the man muttered, more to himself than anything. "Change—" He kissed Q on the cheek. "—I'll do so quickly, too, and meet you at the stairs."

"Yes, none of this leaving me alone while you're naked," Quentin called behind him with a laugh. He pulled on a pair of plaid trousers, and a baggy grey jumper and boots.

There was a distant laughter from James where he was still inside his room, and a few minutes later, the man returned—all leather jacket, shirt, a pair of comfortable trousers, and boots—all his things in tow, though there really weren't that many of them. "Let's go," he smiled at Q, shrugging just the messenger on, and reaching for Q's hand. 

 

"You look amazing," Q smiled. "Edible, really."

"You're one to talk," James purred. "Don't tempt me into peeling that jumper and trousers off you." He smiled as they headed down the stairs. 

 

"Errands first, unfortunately," Q yawned at him. "And a decent cuppa, I need caffeine before I get withdrawals."

 

James snorted good-naturedly. "Should I attempt at weening you off it?" 

 

"Probably, but I'm not responsible if I get homicidal," Q teased, locking the door. "I hope your car starts, I'm not a fan of pushing cars in mud."

 

"Well, then I suppose tea is not that bad." James laughed. "Just not too much caffeine intake." He fished the key out of his pocket and look at the poor car. "Well," he looked down at the ground beneath their feet. The rain had stopped before it got too dark the day before, and part of that water seemed to have drained away well enough. "We'll find out." 

 

Both of them got into the car first, and after a few tries, the engine did come to life, and James sighed a relieved breath before turning to Q with a grin. "Let's head into town then."

 

Q nodded and swallowed, trying to stave off the voice they told him to never let James leave the safety of the property.

 

"What's wrong?" James asked as they descended the slope slowly, turning to give Q a brief look.

"Just getting cold feet," Q confessed. "I feel like something'll go wrong, and you'll disappear."

 

Sighing, James reached out and squeezed Q's hand, lacing their fingers together. "I know I've always been the one leaving you behind first, Quentin," he said softly. "But I promise I won't this time... Not again."

 

"Just keep holding my hand? It seems foolish I know, but..." Quentin whispered softly. "It makes me feel better."

 

"Nothing foolish about it," James soothed quietly. They had been separated for so many times, and he couldn't blame Quentin for wanting to keep close contact... Even he felt the same way. 

 

Quietly, James squeezed Quentin's hand. 

 

"And I'm looking forward to seeing the last of that damn place," Quentin murmured.

 

James nodded in agreement. 

 

It took them a while, but they managed to get down to town without much trouble, and James was glad it hadn't started raining again. "All right, shopping first, or to the town hall?"

 

"Eh... Town hall," Q said reluctantly. "Let's get the boring stuff over first."

 

With a nod, James drove the relatively short way to their destination and parked. It was a rather small place, the town hall, but considering the entire scale of this place anyway, he supposed he wasn't really surprised. 

 

"Come on." They got out, and James offered Q his hand, smiling softly. 

 

Q took it with a grin, and they headed inside and rang the desk bell.

 

A short, older man with white hair, bald on top, and a corduroy jacket appeared.

 

"Hello, can I help you?" He poked his glasses up his nose.

 

"I'm the new owner of the Slope House, and I'm hoping to get the records?" Q said.

 

The man frowned a little. "Records? Of the other owners you mean?" He blinked. 

 

"Yes, and any other documents you maybe have in relation to the house as well," James chimed in before surveying the place and taking in details. There were only a handful of people there working. 

 

"I inherited it, and other than the deed and keys, I don't have any information," Quentin said. "There are a lot of personal objects, but I thought I had no living family, and I'd like to be sure."

 

The man nodded then began the brisk procedure to receive them in, which included a small fee, before directing them to an inside room where the archive was. 

 

"She's in charge of the keeping of the files. Ask her and she'll give you the documents we have," he told them, pointing to a woman, with long dark hair tied up into a high pony tail behind her head, whose back was turned to them. 

"Hi," Q repeated his request to the clerk. "Can you help us?"

 

She, who had been arranging some materials, turned to them, grey eyes shifting over them both as James suddenly feel a sudden sharp pain in his chest, where his heart was. 

 

"Yes," she said, smiling politely at Q as she turned to the rather ancient looking computer on her desk. "Sorry, it may take a bit. I've been pestering them to update our system, but they haven't really budged. Our town is a little small, as you can see." She typed in the address and waited as the program loaded. 

 

"Can you print them for us while we visit the loo?" Q squeezed James's hand, and dragged him out onto the hallway. "Its her, isn't it? Angela?"

 

James's hand was cold and clamming, squeezing onto Q's. "I think so..." he muttered. "Still can't remember her face..." 

 

"Me either," Q shook his head. "But she feels... Evil. Cold. And dammit, we have to go back for the papers. Is it even fucking worth it?"

 

"We just need to... get what we need. We've already paid for the photocopying fee already. Let's just read through what we can first then copy the rest." James squeezed Q's hand. 

 

"Alright," Q shivered. "But fast, yeah? I feel like she wants to eat me."

 

James nodded. "I feel like she wants to eat the both of us." He took Q's hand, squeezed it, and stepped inside again briskly, not showing anything on his face as he stepped back inside. 

 

"Oh, there you are," the clerk,  _ Angela _ , smiled as she spotted them and handed James a piece of paper. Their fingers brushed a little once the man reached for it, and James steeled himself at the small quirk that he could detect curling at the corner of the woman's lips. "The files you're looking for is written in there. Here." 

 

She stepped closer, enough that James could smell the perfume on her body, a slight herbal and floral smell, one manicured finger pointing at what she had written on the note. 

 

James stepped away a little. 

 

"That's the row, and the cabinet it should be on." She smiled again.

 

"Thank you," James muttered stiffly and led Q away. 

 

"She felt... Slimy," Q shivered. "I feel queasy," he pulled out a leather portfolio and handed it to James. "Quick, let's just copy these and go."

 

With a nod, James copied the file quickly, keeping an eye out for their surroundings. Something was ghosting in the back of his mind, like images of long forgotten memories trying to escape, but he still couldn't remember them. 

 

Q stayed carefully out of sight where Angela couldn't see him at the desk, but he still stayed uneasy. He fingered through one of the land surveying books, and found his property.

 

It was much larger than just the house, including some hills nearby and a rock outcropping and cave with a stream. He brought it over to show James.

 

"I think we need a copy of this as well," he said. "Something about that cave..."

 

James nodded and did just that as his continued trying to dig about his mind. "What about it?" he asked quietly. 

 

"The stream... Something about it running directly north, like a compass point..." Q muttered. "I think it's part of the ley lines."

 

James nodded, knowing that this was giving them as many questions as it was offering answers. But it was better than nothing to be honest. 

 

"You notice anything on the ownership papers?" Quentin asked. "All that legal speak is exhausting to me."

 

"I haven't been looking through them," James admitted it. Actually, he had been more focused on getting out of there as quick as possible. "I'll go through it once we're back in the house." 

 

"Ok, groceries and let's get out of town," Q shivered. "It looks like rain again."

 

Putting all the copies into a folder he always had on hand, James nodded and led Q out of there. 

 

Angela was watching.

 

"Done already?" She smiled.

 

"Yes," was the curt answer before they left, heading straight out of the archive and to the door.

 

Q took a deep breath as they left. "God, its a relief to be out of there. She was... Ugh."

 

It was drizzling and James shrugged off his coat to drape over Q's shoulder. "Come on," he said, pointedly not looking back. "Let's head to the shop." 

 

Q nodded. The store was warm, windows steamy, and there was a shop clerk who fetched items.

"Hello," Q smiled. "We need Earl Grey, and what sort of vegetables do you have for stew?"

 

The man in there smiled and said, as he turned to fetch the Earl Grey, "We have carrots, potatoes, mushrooms, celery, and onion. Would you like all of them?" 

 

"Yes, and a can of peas, if you have," Taron smiled. "Butter, eggs, what else, James?"

 

James's eyes were looking out at the mist-covered windows, to the smudges of colors reflected from things on the other side. 

 

He blinked and turned back to Q. "Uh... That's should be it." 

 

The clerk nodded and placed all their items into brown paper bags, and James paid for their purchases before taking them into his arms. 

 

"Let's go before the storm-" Q stopped before opening the store door. "Is that Angela near the car? What is she doing?"

 

James gestured for Q to stay back in the shop. "What are you doing?" he called out to her, who turned around and look as James, smiling. 

 

"Oh no, just looking at it. Did you rent this one?" 

 

James's eyes narrowed. "What does it matter to you?" 

 

She smiled, stepping closer to James all of a sudden. Too close. Her hair was spilling over her shoulder. "You remember me, don't you?" she whispered, voice a soft singsong, her eyes sparkling. "I can tell." 

 

"Who is she?" Q asked the store owner. "She looks familiar."

 

The man shrugged. "Helen? She moved here a long while back. I have not seen her before that." 

 

From afar, Angela was leaning closer and closer to James, and James took a step back when she tried to reach out and touch him. 

 

"You have always been stubborn," she smiled. 

 

"What do you want?" he growled. 

 

"You?" she said without blinking her eyes, smiling widely. 

 

"Helen... that's odd," Q shook his head. "I know her by another name. Do you know when she moved here?"

 

The man frowned, trying to think. "A few years ago, I think... Five or six..." 

 

"Don't be ridiculous," James hissed. "Stay the fuck away from me and anyone around me." 

 

Angela chuckled. "Aww... You still subconsciously remember last time, don't you?" 

 

James sneered. "What last time?" 

 

"Oh... must have the wrong person then... Is her family from here? I knew someone older named Angela who looked just like her."

 

"I'm not too sure about that..."  The man was trying to wrack his mind when someone came out from the back. His wife.

 

"Who?" she looked at him. 

 

"He asked about someone named Angela... Do you know anyone by that name?" 

 

"Angela?" She frowned a little. "Angela Mitchel, you mean?" 

 

"The woman out front, talking to my partner," Q said as he pointed. "I knew someone who looked just like her, but your husband said her name was Helen."

 

"Oh... oh yes... That is Helen. But you're right, she's always looked so much like Angela. I thought so too myself. But Angela died along time ago already... A gruesome death. In a fire, too." 

 

"A fire?" Q asked. "I'm sorry, I'm so new in town, and with my injury and no car, I haven't gotten into town to meet people."

 

"Oh yes, that fire?" The man piqued up. "All the way back in the sixties?" 

 

"Yes, yes. That one. They said it was a gas leak. God knew what happened. It just blew up into smokes in the middle of the night." 

 

"What blew up?" Q asked. "A house?"

 

"The house, yes. It was a gas leak. Just a spark and it'll blow up... The fire spread quickly, too." The woman made a grave face. "Nothing any of us could do." 

 

"Where was it, which house?" Q checked the window again. James seemed to be holding his own.

 

"Just down the street," the man was pointing before he paused. "You're rather interested in this." 

 

"I just find it weird. I'm up at the Slope House, and every person I tell has a creepy store of their own to share. Thought about a book or something," Q gave a short laugh.

 

"You're at the Slope House?" The woman blinked. "My... no one occupied that place for years. Well... has anything strange happened to you?"

 

"The construction workers said their things were moved... But I'm rather unsuperstitious myself," Q shrugged. "An old house is bound to make noises, but I sleep with music on, so who knows?"

 

"Well, that's the spirit," the clerk laughed just as Angela suddenly placed a hand on James's cheek. With a sneer, James pushed her hand away. And she laughed. 

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

Q ran out the door, and it ricocheted off the building with a bang. He yelled something, not even sure what, and tore her hand off of James's cheek.

 

Angela snatched her hand back with a hissed, reaction as if burnt, and turned to glare at Q. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed. 

 

"He's mine," Q yelled. "He was the last time you took him from me. He always has been, and always will be.  _ Felices in aeternum _ !"

 

Angela snorted. "Dearie, meeting one person again and again doesn't make him yours. But what does it matter? He'll be mine again anyway." She winked at James and turned away. 

 

Q growled at her, fingernails digging into his palms to keep from punching her. "Let's go, before I hunt her down."

 

Coming closer to Q, James ushered him into the car before dumping their grocery into the boot and rounded up to the driver's seat, leaving. 

 

Q didn't take a deep breath until they were safely out of eye range. "What the fuck was that?" He exploded.

 

"I don't know," James replied, strained himself. "She kept approaching and I pushed her away, but I couldn't very well punch her in the face right then now, could I? That would work to her advantage."

 

"I wish, she was horrid," Q shivered. "And the storekeeper told me that someone named Angela died when her house burned down, and she looked just like this woman named Helen."

 

"So she faked her death then," James concluded. 

 

"I'm guessing, and explained it as some distant relative, so it explains why she didn't age," Q said. "I am quite sure there's a bit of dark spell work involved. Everyone ages."

 

"Do you think it has anything to do with us?" There was that slightly sharp twinge in his heart again. 

 

"I think so," Q shivered. "I think she feeds on the pain, like some vampire."

 

_ "Aww... You still subconsciously remember last time, don't you?"  _

 

James stopped abruptly, his eyes wide as flutters of images crossed his mind. 

 

He was on a bed, bound and gagged, the blindfold too tight over his eyes. His body burnt like it was running a fever.

 

_ "Shh..."  _

 

James jerked reflexively, trying to avoid a hand that wasn't there, eye twitching. "She caught me..." 

 

"That's why you didn't come..." Q stumbled towards the house. "Let's get inside, and you can tell me."

 

James got out, trying to steady himself before rounding to the boot to gather their shopping and heading back inside. 

Q unlocked the door with a shaky hand, and headed for the kitchen. He made tea, and started the stew, before collapsing at the table with a sigh.

 

"God, that was awful. Has she always been…?”

 

James brought tea over to Q and sat down. "Probably." He shrugged. 

 

"I think she's been involved since the start," Q shivered. "Some way."

 

"I'm not sure." His memory from before was still hazy at best. "What did,  _ does _ , she want from me?"

 

"She wants you. She feeds off the pain of keeping us apart," Q said, gaze hazy. "She always has... I remember her, Jamie. She was the one that told my father."

 

James's eyes widened. "Fuck... then what do we do?"

 

"Burn her... For real this time," Q said.

 

It was easier said than done, because they had to make it seem like an accident, or at least, they needed it to happen in the middle of nowhere where no legal authority could trace back to them and make them take the blame for it. It made James wonder what had happened to have stopped it from succeeding the last time, the thought made his heart hurt again, but he ignored it, nursing his tea. "We'll have to keep a close eye on her then." 

 

"Dammit, hard to stay away and keep an eye on her simultaneously," Q said. "Although... Didn't you say you had a friend?"

 

James looked up at that, blinking. "Yes. Alec..." He thought about it for a moment. "Not sure where he is right now, though... You want him to help keep an eye on her?" 

 

"Well if she doesn't know him, it might be helpful," Q said. "Eve wouldn't fit in well here."

 

"Well... I don't think my explosive-loving friend would exactly fit in here either, but he'll manage." James chuckled softly. It wasn't as if they had any other chance anyway. 

 

"He isn't one of us, and that will have to do," Q shook his head. "I have no idea... I still have to look through the grimoire."

 

"Let's eat first, then you can look into the Grimoire, and I'll see if I can put a semblance of order to the information we've managed to gather today." 

 

"Alright," Q added the vegetables to the browning meat.

 

James followed him, placing a hand on the small of Q's back, pressing a kiss just behind his ear, watching and listening and taking inasmuch as he could with all his other senses. 

 

"I'm yours, Quentin," he whispered quietly, sliding his arms around the other man, pulling him back just so his behind pressed into James's chest. "Always will be, no matter what." 

 

"You feel so good," Q whispered. "Being in your arms," he turned and kissed James desperately. "I needed this, needed you."

James kissed back, just as desperately. Hands splayed on Q's cheeks, he sucked on those lips, swallowing up every word. "And I'm here now... I'm not going anywhere again... No more." 

 

"No, you aren't, if i need to write a fucking crazy glue spell," Q burst into laughter. "Sorry, I react inappropriately to stress."

 

James chuckled and shook his head. "Nothing over the top, I can assure you." He smiled. Not when he felt very much like going to wherever Angela was with a can of gasoline and a lighter. Maybe if he acted discreetly enough, no one would notice. 

 

Impossible thoughts, to be honest. 

 

"I'll call Alec and see where he is after enjoying your stew," he said, softly carding a hand through Q's hair. 

 

"Whenever you like, dinner will be a bit," Q leaned into his hand. "Do you want fresh rolls with dinner?"

 

James shrugged. "I don't mind either way." Truly, he was already more than grateful that he had Q's food now to enjoy and savour. 

 

"You're very flattering to cook for," Q kissed him with a smile. "I could feed you toast and you'd think it was wonderful."

 

"Of course it is," James grinned. "Best toasts in the world." 

 

"Oh for heaven's sake," Q shooed him out of the kitchen. "Will you take the herbs in the cauldron and move them to the atrium? I have to scrub it out after dinner for the spell."

 

"Yes, darling," James laughed and went to do just that, shuffling around for a pot and moving everything in there without disturbing the herbs as much as he could before leaving them in the atrium as instructed, then moved to the back to start scrubbing the cauldron for Q in the meantime. 

 

"Use some salt and scrub counter clockwise, if you could?" Q brushed a smudge of dirt off James's cheek. "And I hope you left some dirt in the atrium. Or are you just fishing for excuses for a bath together, love?"

 

"Suppose I am, can you blame me?" James grinned, reaching for the salt that Q had brought and using it to start scrubbing counter clockwise. 

 

"Not at all, I'd tell you that all you had to do was ask though," Q smiled. "And I made some pear crumble for dessert, there's still ice cream."

 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to fatten me up." James chuckled, spraying water into the cauldron and pouring that out. It was less murky and dirty and greasy now, thank goodness. 

 

"Fatten you up, no," Q laughed. "You have a perfect body, don't be fishing for compliments, Jamie. I'm just trying to keep up your energy."

 

James sniffed. "I'm not fishing for compliments," he said, feigned petulance. "And I think you have a scheme of making it so I can never eat anything but your food again, because anything else wouldn't taste right anymore." He grinned, scrubbing again as though he had never stopped in the first place. 

 

"Ah well, must get you used to some of the finer things in life," Quentin teased. "It's the least I can do, your massages are insane. If you're going to treat me like a prince, I insist on spoiling you," he pressed a kiss to James's cheek.

 

"Well, first time I've ever seen a prince wanting to spoil his dragon captor," James teased back, turning and leaning from where he was crouching just so their lips brushed. "And maybe I'm just too familiar with your body." He winked. 

 

Q gave a happy groan. "I'll happily spoil you any way you like, dear dragon. As long as I can wake up beside you. Call Alec, quit dawdling."

 

"I'm not dawdling," James protested. "You didn't see how dirty this thing was, even after I was through with the second round of scrubbing." He rinsed it with water one more time, set the cauldron upside down for it to dry, and stood up, knees creaking. 

 

"Let's call Alec then," he said, removing his gloves, and reaching for his mobile in his pocket. 

 

The signal was horrid, but it got better when James found just the right spot, wedged between the kitchen and staircase. 

 

"Alec?" he called, just a little louder than usual over the statics. "Where are you right now?" 

 

"Outside Cardiff," Alec took the phone off speaker. "Sorry, I'm at a pub, trying to find an informant for a story. But I think I've been stood up. I haven't heard from you in ages, what's going on? You never call unless you need something, so forgive me if I'm suspicious."

 

"Sod off, I called you plenty of times for just drinks," James said. "Is the story important though? Because I'm scheming something and may need a hand." 

 

"Anything going to blow up?" Alec asked cheerfully. "I'll bring a bottle of vodka. It's just an idea I'm chasing on my own, I kept hearing about couple who swore they had met in past lives. You know me, can't turn down a tangent."

 

James paused at that. "Well, I think I've got just about all the things you've mentioned right there. So come over. I'll text you the address." 

 

"Alright," Alec looked puzzled. "Are we chasing the same lead then?"

 

"No. We're not chasing the same lead..." James trailed off, hesitating for a moment, because of all people, Alec would probably ask if he had gone insane somewhere along the way for what he was about to say next: "I'm one of those cases you're chasing."

 

"You?" Alec asked. "Have you been buying the cheap scotch again, or should i bring a gun?"

 

Well, he hadn't been wrong in his assumption. "Well, I won't really mind a gun right now, but no, I've been clean and sober, you know that." 

 

"I know," James agreed. "Bring me a gun as well. This was supposed to be a short trip, I didn't bring one."

 

"Alright then... Dare I ask what damsel in distress we're saving this time?" Alec sighed. "You always get into the damndest messes."

 

"No damsel in distress," James said with a sigh himself, carding a hand through his hair. "Rather, I'm trying to stop a bitch from ruining the best thing in my life," he said, very seriously. "And I need your help." 

 

"You found him?" Alec breathed. "Tell me where you are then, I'm on my way."

 

It was back in the days, probably twenty years ago or more, that James supposed he had told Alec about the infrequent dreams,  _ flashes _ , that he sometimes had when he slept. Images of another man... At first, they chalked it off as stress, but when those repeated, even Alec had to take it seriously. 

 

But then there was the Royal Navy and Black Ops and bombs, fire, gunshots, and death ( _ death death death _ ), and they spent their time drinking more than they should, and then either the dreams stopped coming, or James had already been too far gone to remember them anymore. 

 

And that was that. 

 

"I'll text you the location," James replied, quiet himself. Glad that Alec still remembered and seemed serious about it more than ever before. "Thank you." 

 

"Of course," Alec said quickly. "This story reminded me of you when I heard it... I can't believe you finally found him."

 

"I have..." James leant back against the wall, the idea sinking in leaving him a little awestruck still all the same. He couldn't believe it himself. "I finally found him..." 

 

He swallowed and took in a breath. "I'll tell you more when you get here, okay? See you." 

 

They hung up, and James quickly texted the location over to Alec, along with a note that told him to be wary of the really wet weather. That done, he returned to where Q was, hugging him from behind once more. 

 

"Hi, handsome," Q smiled and leaned into him. "Ready for a warm bath while dinner cooks?"

 

"Very," James rumbled, kissing the nape of Q's neck. "Alec said he's coming." 

 

"Excellent," Q smiled. "What was he working on? I couldn't help but eavesdrop."

 

"People who claim to have met each other before they actually meet. In a much different setting." He held Q closer. "Like us... I used to tell him my dreams, back when I still remembered my dreams clearly. He didn't believe me at first, but eventually, it wasn't a joke anymore. Not when the images kept repeating."

 

"Oh!" Q smiled. "So he won't think we're completely crazy then, that's good. How long ago were your dreams?"

 

James smiled back. "Some twenty years ago?"—they all had been so fleeting though— "Why?" 

 

"You were on a ship?" He asked. "They thought I was hallucinating from the drugs they gave me, when they took out my appendix."

 

James nodded. "I was on a ship. Still in the Royal Navy..." He rested his chin on Q's shoulder. "You saw those, too?" 

 

"Yes, there was a bad storm, and you were ill, you and your bunk mate," Q shivered. "Never wanted to try boating after that."

 

"Oh," James suppressed a shiver. He remembered that. Not the most pleasant of experiences; most of the entire ship were trying not to puke up a spleen. "That'd be Alec. There was a bad storm like you said, and we were too far offshore to have done much of anything other than waiting it out."

 

"Oh! He has green eyes," Q said. "And bigger shoulders than you. And an accent. I think he had a black eye as well."

 

James laughed, kissing Q's temple. He didn't realize Q would remember so many details. "Yes. I think we got into a fight with some wankers just prior to that or something." 

 

"I didn't see you again for awhile, even though I hoped to," Q said quietly. "I thought you were my guardian angel."

 

"You saw me getting seasick alongside a man sporting a black eye, and thought I was your guardian angel?" James asked, quiet amusement in his voice.

 

"Well, I was eight," Q laughed. "And I'd been sick for days. They thought it was the flu, until it didn't go away."

 

James nodded, hugging Q closer. "Well, I'm glad they found out soon enough." 

 

"They did, and my parents felt awful for not realizing," Q said. "But really, any eight year old is ill for a day..."

 

"I know," James soothed. "Just that I'm rather sure if there were guardian angels at all, they wouldn't be seasick and had a black eye." He chuckled, kissing Q. "Come on. Warm bath."

 

"Well to an eight year old who loved super hero stories, you were," Q smiled, pulling James up the stairs with him.

 

James smiled. "Did you ever see anything else?"

 

"Sometimes you were running... And there were guns," Q frowned. "It scared me."

 

James's hand on the back of Q's neck stroked him tentatively. "I'm sorry you have to see that." Truly, he was. 

 

"I was afraid it was because of me, because of something I did," Q admitted softly. "You were so handsome, and I wanted to meet you. And I was afraid it was my fault that we didn't."

 

"Never," James soothed, hand on the small of Q's back. "It couldn't have been your fault... I was in the military by choice." It seemed like he was always involved into wars and fights and battles, and ended up losing his life in the process more often than not. 

 

"I didn't know that, I didn't know anything about you," Q said. "I only knew you were running, and you looked afraid."

 

"I know... I just wished you hadn't thought that it was yourself who was to blame for that." 

 

"Well, at least I know now," Q said. "I stopped seeing you for awhile, I was afraid you'd died."

 

"Maybe it was because I stopped dreaming," James said quietly. He had stopped dreaming and started having nightmares, and he had snuffed that out, too, by downing as much alcohol as he could. 

 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Q leaned in and kissed him as he filled the tub, adding bubbles. "I missed seeing you, and then after awhile I figured I had imagined it all."

 

James shook his head. "Don't be sorry... And well, obviously, none of that was imagined." He pressed a kiss to Q's forehead and began to undress him. 

 

Q sighed and relaxed as James undressed him. "I'm very glad you're real, and that you're alright. So, tell me. Do you think Alec can help us with the research, help us put together the pieces?" 

 

"I'm sure he can, especially when he's motivated, which he is." James smiled. "He'll help us as much as he could." 

 

Quentin climbed into the warm water with a sigh. "This feels lovely, brilliant idea of yours," he motioned for James to climb into the tub with him.

 

James raised an eyebrow, settling in slowly before sighing as he leaned against the porcelain. "How so? You were the one who suggested the bath." He smiled. 

 

"Yes? Well then my idea was brilliant," Q leaned against him. "When will Alec get here?"

 

"Said he was in Cardiff," James replied, pulling Q closer and reaching for the shampoo to start washing his hair. "Probably late tonight."

 

"Alright," Q snuggled against him. "I'll set a spare room for him when we're done. I need to put linens and towels."

"Let me do that," James said, working into Q's curls. "Let's hope our invisible residents won't try to scare Alec away. Although I'm sure that'll just make him even more stubborn to stay."

"They like you, and since you trust Alec, it should be alright," Q said, leaning into James's hand with a purr. "I do hope he isn't nosy about what we do at night though, you'll find I don't share Jamie."

James laughed. "You talk as though I'm planning on sharing you with anyone else, Elliot." He kissed Q's cheek where there was no suds before tilting his lover's head back gently. "Close your eyes," he said, starting to rinse Q's hair.

Quentin tilted back his head and nodded. "So is Alec single, or is he one of the missing halves as well?"

"Single, as far as I can tell..." James replied slowly.

"Oh, ok," Q smiled. "I was just wondering. If there's more couples like us, I'd love to meet them, find out how they did it."

"He said he was supposed to be interviewing someone who supposedly had something similar to us, but that person stood him up." He kissed the nape of Q's neck. 

 

"Oh, alright," Q frowned. "I was wondering how they managed. They can't all have used magic. We didn't use magic to meet again, only to try to stay together. And I suppose we won't know if it worked, unless we remember if we meet again."

"True," James nodded. "Although there's the blessing the stag had given us, too," he said quietly. "I still think that helps a lot in us managing to meet again, despite everything."

"Yes... I wonder if he's still there," Quentin shook out his hair and massaged a handful of soap into James's skin.

"Maybe," James hummed, feeling Q's soft hands on his skin. "Still quietly trekking the woods and finding a patch of sun lie down in."

"That sounds beautiful," Quentin smiled. "I hope we'll get to see him to thank him."

"I think we will." James smiled back. "Or maybe he'll come to us... much like the first time, probably."

"I can't wait to see Skyfall, you told me so many times what you wanted it to look like," Quentin smiled. "Does it really have the big bedrooms with fireplaces, and hand carved wooden beams and floors?"

"It does." James stroked along Quentin's face and nodded. "All of that. And high ceiling so we won't feel claustrophobic, next to a long stretch of moor and a lake, too." He kissed Quentin's lips. "But I never... It had always been so cold when I was young, no matter how much I fed the fire..." He gazed into those green, green eyes. "Because you weren't there."

"Well, now I will be," Quentin said softly. "I even learned to make those tied fleece quilts at the gay and lesbian center with the youth group, I can show you how."

 

"Quilting," James chuckled. "I'm afraid that's not really my thing, or rather, sitting still for an extended length of time is not my thing." 

 

"I..." Quentin hung his head. "I had a problem with depression after the accident, and my insomnia was still bad. I had to find things to do to keep my hands busy. And I wasn't mobile enough to care for a pet yet."

 

James listened and pulled Quentin into his arms. "It's okay... I understand," he soothed, smoothing one hand up and down Quentin's back. "I'm glad you're doing better now, and I'm glad it helped you in your recovery... I'm just saying that I don't have the sort of patience required to do that, unlike you."

 

"Well, I didn't either," Quentin smiled. "But I was surprised what I enjoyed once I tried it. Although I am a crocheting failure. That just ended badly. One sweater was too small, and one was big enough to fit two of me."

 

James chuckled, hands on Quentin's hips. "If it fitted two of you, then it may be just a tad loose for me only." He winked. "You said something about a pet, though?" 

 

"Well I always wanted a cat," Quentin said wistfully. "But... once I came up here... it's so hard to get supplies, and I don't know anyone. Someday though."

 

"How about for either London or Skyfall?" James asked quietly. 

 

"Sounds good to me," Quentin grinned. "I'd really love a black kitten. But wherever we'll spend more time. Or can he go back and forth with us?"

 

"If he's not uncomfortable with travelling quite a distance from time to time, then I'm sure he can come with us." He smiled. 

  
"We'll have to start training him immediately," Quentin said thoughtfully. "Eve has a wonderful cat, and he walks on a leash. But he's a bit of a tosser. He likes to bring me dead bugs."


	14. Chapter 14

"The tokens of his affection, I'm sure," James chuckled. "And well, between the two of us, I'm sure we can manage to train him well enough." 

 

"Can a cat actually be trained?" Quentin asked doubtfully. "I rather think it's more like Theodore has Eve trained."

 

James laughed. "Well, don't many pets do so themselves?" He kissed Quentin on the nose. "And I wouldn't really know about cars, or any other pets to be honest." 

 

"Add more hot water?" Q murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to the scruff on James's jaw.

 

With a sigh, James leant into the kiss with a smile as he turned the water on, warming the bath up. 

 

"Thank you, love," Q smiled. "So, a bedroom with a fireplace, a kitten, lazy mornings... I'm quite looking forward to Skyfall. We'll look at the papers over dinner, get some ideas to show Alec."

 

"I think we have plenty of ideas already; it's the problem of how we're going to talk about this that doesn't make it sound like we're just reading from the journal themselves." 

 

"Well yes... But I want to read through the ownership papers as well," Quentin said. "I was so eager to get away from Angela, I need to look them over in detail."

 

"I know. Especially about that cave and stream you said, too." They still had a lot to go through. 

 

"Yes, we should get busy on that," James stretched and drained the tub reluctantly.

"We should get busy with food first," James pointed out, helping Q out of the bath as they dried one another.

"Yes, everything should be done," Q burrowed into the towel. "I'll fix a plate for Alec, and he can just heat it when he arrives."

James toweled him down gently, kissing Q all over. "You always think of everything, don't you?" he smiled.

"It's a long drive, he'll be hungry," Quentin reasoned. "And we can explain what we know while he eats."

James nodded and turned to retrieve warm clothes for them to put on. The house was ancient, and stayed drafted, even when the strong winds had died down.

Quentin laid places at the kitchen table and dished out food for them, with mugs of warm berry tea.

James got the cutlery and napkins, bringing the food out over to the table and covered the bowl that was meant for Alec so it could be reheated later. 

 

Quentin's home-baked bread smelt magnificent as he cut it into slices with a bread knife, laying all of them out neatly into a wide place between them. 

 

"Wonderful meal." He smiled at Quentin.

"Thank you, I thought I'd save the Earl Grey for morning," Quentin smiled. "I hope this food won't be boring for Alec."

"He's going to love it, Quentin," James reassured as they sat down.

"So... Any hints in the folder that will help?" Quentin flipped through the copies.

The fact that Quentin was reading through the folder while they were eating reminisced a feel of something back when he was still serving, but he pushed that feeling away. 

 

"I did see some familiar names and..." Well, it wasn't strictly allowed, but he did it anyway. "Photocopied the deeds to the house that got destroyed in the flood, too, and who owned it before that."

 

On the list, furthest back, was a faded, numbered list.  _ 'Jamie Cadden,'  _ one of the names said. "I think I got myself a last name..." James said quietly.

"Oh..." Quentin breathed, eyes wide. "I remember. My father said he'd gotten himself a slave with a name like a gentleman, who could be his personal butler, make him look important, like a rich man in the city. But then he was angry that your skill was with sheep, not domestic service. So I was intrigued... I would bring a book and lunch out to the pasture, make you share with me, to get to talk to you."

James smiled. If he remembered correctly, Jamie's father had been in debt, and his mum needed food to feed the other siblings, and he was the oldest of the bunch... He didn't think Jamie had ever resented them. Just sad by the inevitability. It had been obvious.

 

"Unfortunate for him, I was clumsy. Handling delicate objects or matters was not my forte." James's rough and calloused hand flexed at this as though on cue. "I remember that first time sitting down next to you"—he had only been thirteen some back then, and Elliot probably a little younger— "so nervous, my heart was chattering. I only had been sneaking looks at you through the library's window and the kitchen. I didn't imagine you would actually come out to talk to me." He smiled.

"Well, you were intimidating, you were older, it seemed like you knew everything," Q laughed. "And you had the shepherd's hut all to yourself, it was perfect once I could figure out how to get away. And I watched you bathe that time in the stream, and after that, I was so in love," Quentin giggled, blushing.

"I was thirteen," James pointed out with a soft chuckle. "I might have known a bit of this and that from all the travelling"— _ auctions _ — "but not really. You taught me the best things I could ever learn: reading and writing." 

 

He looked at Q, loving the sparks in his eyes. "I reckoned your father gave me that place because he was too aggravated with me for the money he wasted and didn't want to see my face too often." He laughed before catching what Q said next. "Oh, Elliot, you sneaky minx, now I know," he teased. "As for me... I was already infatuated that time when I was told to go into the library to fetch ink and parchment, and you were just sitting there on the windowsill, reading a book..." 

 

He looked at Quentin, letting out an appreciative sigh. "So beautiful." 

 

"Nonsense, you were the beautiful one," Quentin smiled. "I was all spindly, and there you were with your tan skin, and that Scottish lilt. I wanted to know what you smelled like, because I imagined that you smelled like sunshine, whatever an eleven year old thought sunshine smelled like. I fancied myself a poet then," he laughed softly. "Oh horrors, that journal is probably in here somewhere, to perpetually embarrass me."

"Turned out I smelt like sheep and manure," James teased, wrinkling his nose. "But I mean it. You were,  _ are _ , the beautiful one. Always have been. And what's wrong with being a poet though? I loved everything you wrote the moment I could piece the words together." He smiled.

"Hush," Quentin blushed, leaning into James and biting his bread. "I only... I wrote what I saw. And you smelled nothing like sheep and manure, you smelled sleepy, warm, salty. I remember wanting to lick you, to see what you tasted like... before I had any concept or ambitions to do anything else."

_ Sleepy, warm, salty. _

 

Somehow, James's face got a little heated up at that as he chuckled. "I only tried to give you all that you deserved... and for the record, your hair was just as soft as I imagined it to be."

Quentin nuzzled into him, elbowing his way to sit on James's lap. "There's nothing I could do to deserve you, Jamie. You were always so good to me," he smiled. "The snow storm, when I brought you supplies and we were snowed in...

 

***

 

_ "Jamie... where are ye?" Elliot stuck his head into the barn. "I brought some soup and medicines, and some food." _

_ Jamie perked up, his head pounding from the cold that he had caught, and his eyes widened. "Elliot?" His voice was thick as he got up. "What are ye doing here? You'll be cold, go back to the house." _

_ "I brought you some tea, and I wanted to make sure you were alright, sick out here by yourself," he felt Jamie's face. "You're burning up, gods. Let me make you some willow bark tea, and I'll get some broth in you," he wrapped Jamie in his cloak and stoked the fire. _

_ Jamie got up, wrapped the cloak around him, and went closer to where Elliot was, taking the makeshift of a poker, which was just a thick twig, from his hand. "Come on, you'll get splinter." He said with a smile. "And don't worry, I'll be fine." _

_ "Bed, Jamie," Elliot retorted, hands on his hips. "You're always working too hard, and now it's my turn to take care of you. I already fed the sheep, and I want you to have your tea." _

_ Jamie pouted, sniffing but barely taking in any air. "Darn sheep, got me fallen into that lake in the pasture not too far from here right before it started sleeting yesterday," he muttered. "So this is not because I worked too hard." He grinned. _

_ "Well blow your nose, and put some camphor underneath it," Elliot shook his head. "I'll reheat the soup and make some toast," he kissed Jamie's forehead and tucked the blanket back around him. _

_ "Can't. I can feel air hissing out of my ears instead whenever I try to blow my nose." Jamie laughed. "And no no. I can do it... Go home before I spread this to you. The Master will be looking for you." _

_ "The master is in his bed, with his own bit of the gripe," Elliot said. "He won't miss me for days, he has one of the servant girls tending him. And I'm here to tend you, although it's a bit cold for me to wear a see through cotton shift like the Master insists." _

_ Something darkened in Jamie's face as he reached out to pull Elliot into his arms, careful to turn his face away and just wrap the other man into his blanket as well.  _

 

_ "You don't have to tend to me," he said. "Just be here... That's more than enough." _

 

_ "How about if I do both?" Elliot asked softly, pushing the sweaty hair off Jamie's forehead. "Lie down, I brought my flute. Maybe you can rest while I heat the broth." _

_ Jamie gazed at Elliot and nodded. "At least put on a blanket, too. The cottage is cold." _

_ "I'll share yours," Elliot smiled, curling up against Jamie's side. His flute was tied in a leather bag at his belt, a polished wood one that he'd gotten from his grandfather before he passed. He blew a few experimental notes, and then starting a haunting melody, one that built in volume. _

_ "I don't want you to get sick, too," Jamie said, even as he pulled Elliot closer to share the warmth of the blanket, heated up even more so with his feverish body temperature.  _

 

_ He listened, the melody sad and lingering in the air that it made him think of his past, those distant, misted years before he came here... And what the future would hold for them as well... unknown and uncertain at the same time. _

_ "I'm sure that if I was going to catch it, I already would have," Elliot soothed, wiping a wet cloth over Jamie's fevered head. "Why did you end up sleeping in the barn, to tend the sheep while you were ill? I strung a cord between here and the hut, so we don't get lost if we have to go back and forth in the storm." _

_ "You're not going back out there until it clears, Elliot," Jamie said, sighing at the soothing cloth ran over his forehead and face. "And yeah... some wolves may take the risk to run in here and kill a sheep if they're desperate enough... so here I am." _

_ "We'll keep watch together then," Elliot smiled. "But I have no intention of leaving your side. I brought everything I thought we'd need in here, and the rest can wait. And the storm looked bad to start, and no one will brave it to come here, so I thought it would be a perfect way to spend a few days with you." _

_ The only thing that James hoped for was that no one would find out that Elliot was missing from his room and started to go look for him. "I have no intention of letting you go either now that you're here... So, don't blame me if you catch a cold, too." _

_ "A small price to pay for a few uninterrupted nights with you," he said softly from where he lay against James's shoulder. "Maybe you'll feel better in the morning, and I won't worry about using your energy that you need to heal for sex." _

_ Jamie barked a laugh. "And with the winds howling, I'm sure no one will hear us even if they try." He kissed Elliot's throat before leaning back. _

_ "Mmm, yes..." Elliot sighed, content. "You can touch me until I scream, and we can blame it all on the weather... I like it." _

_ Jamie chuckled. "There's an upside that I can't refuse." He squeezed Elliot's shoulder and got up, wandering about to start feeling around the stacks of hay until he found the softest one. "Come on. Let's make us somewhere comfortable to lie down." _

_ Elliot nodded and picked up the stack of blankets and followed. Jamie had chosen a soft spot for them, and Elliot laid down the bed roll on top. He let Jamie get situated first, and then tucked them both beneath the blanket. _

_ Jamie curled under the blanket with Elliot, mostly breathing through his mouth, but contented. _

_ Elliot drowsed beside him, getting up occasionally to add more wood to the fire. He got up in early evening and tucked some potatoes in the embers, and poured soup in mugs for each of them. _

_ Head pounding, Jamie could only do so much for Elliot, like tugging the edge of the blanket up around his shoulders, and just generally making sure that he wasn't coughing or sneezing right into his face.  _

 

_ Cradling his mug of soup, which he was sure smelt heavenly, Jamie leant onto Elliot. The sheep were huddling together and sleeping not too far away, a mass of wool.  _

 

_ "Thanks for taking care of me," he said softly. _

_ "Of course, Jamie," he murmured. "I always will, I've told you that," Elliot kept an arm around him and added more wood to the barn stove. "Try to sleep now, lover. You'll feel better in the morning. I'll watch for the wolves." _

_ "I locked the door," Jamie murmured, sipping on his soup. "So the wolves really won't have that much of a chance getting in."  _

 

_ "Good," Elliot shed his boots and wiggled his toes in front of the fire. "By the sound of the wind, I figure we have at least two days, maybe three. So at least one of you feeling better, that we can tumble in the hay," he gave Jamie an impish look, before shedding his trousers as well.  _

 

_ Jamie nearly snorted on his soup, but stop himself just in time, which, given the fact that he could barely breathe through the nose, was a bit of a feat. "Minx," he accused fondly. "No kissing on the lips, though. I'm not getting you sick."  _

 

_ "I can think of lots of other things for you to kiss, once you can breathe," Elliot retorted, freckles stark on his pale legs. _

 

_ "Oh, I'm only not kissing the lips for now, Elliot, which will prove to be difficult, I can assure you," Jamie bemoaned before smiling and kissing a cluster of freckles on those long legs.  _

 

_ "Mmm," Elliot sighed happily and ran his hands through Jamie's hair. "Don't be getting me all bothered, or something might be poking at you in your sleep." _

 

_ Jamie chuckled, leaning into Elliot. "I wouldn't mind." He smiled. "You know... My mouth is more heated than usual..." His eyes flickered up to look at Elliot, something playful and sultry in his gaze. "Do you think it'll make things more intense?"  _

 

_ He leant forward, nuzzling at Elliot's crotch. "If I suck you, I mean."  _

 

_ "Yes," Elliot bit back a gulp, hips stuttering up involuntarily. "If you're feeling well enough, gods, that sounds incredible. You're always warm anyway." _

 

_ Jamie grinned. "Maybe it'll help clear my stuffy nose." He gave Elliot's cock an open-mouthed kiss, intentionally gliding the side of his tongue along the length of it.  _

 

_ "Jamie, not fair," Elliot protested, choking off a moan, and burying his fingers into the blonde hair. "We need baths after this, you're all sweaty, and I will be as well." _

 

_ "You want to take a bath in the middle of a snow storm?" Jamie laughed, wrapping the blanket around them. He felt cold, but the heat singeing in his eye sockets told him that his temperature was higher than it should be, and he kissed Elliot all over before skimming down to slowly pop his half hard cock into his mouth.  _

 

_ "I'll melt some snow and use my cloak," Elliot sighed. "I don't need to go home smelling like a brothel, even if I do like it."  _

 

_ Jamie had been right, his mouth was burning, like a furnace.  _

 

_ "Of course not," Jamie said, kissing the tip of Elliot's hardening erection. "Only after the weather clears up enough though. You're not going out there when the gales are strong enough to blow you away." _

 

_ "And not while you're making me feel this good," Elliot groaned and stretched out beneath Jamie. "Come up here and kiss me for a minute, I don't bloody care about your cold." _

 

_ "Well, I do," Jamie protested. "You can be here to take care of me when I'm sick, but I can't very well sneak into your room when you are... I can, but I can't stay for long like you..." And that bothered Jamie a lot. Too much.  _

 

_ "Its not the same without you kissing me first," Elliot said softly. "I miss your taste." _

 

_ Jamie looked at him, something sad and quiet in his eyes as he leant down and pressed a gentle kiss against Elliot's lips before pulling away and leaning his forehead against Elliot's cooling one... sighing in relief.  _

 

_ Elliot wrapped his arms around Jamie's neck and squeezed him tight, pressing a kiss to his nose. "I love you, Jamie. You're my world," he whispered softly. _

 

_ "And you mine," Jamie replied, holding Elliot close. "I want to give you all the best things in the world... because you deserve every single one of them."  _

 

_ Hollow words at most, because Jamie had nothing valuable to give Elliot, with himself being a slave, of all social status. But that truly was the sentiment he held.  _

 

_ "You already give me the best, Jamie," Elliot kissed him. "You give me you, what more can I want, other than a way out of this bloody place someday. But that part I'll make happen for us, that's my end of the bargain." _

 

_ Jamie settled against Elliot, hand tracing along the line of his jaw. "I'm sorry I can't get you out of here..." he whispered. They could risk it... but he didn't wish for Elliot to be hunted down like an animal just for being the accomplice to a runaway slave. Not to mention that they didn't have any money either... And Jamie couldn't bear the thought of seeing Elliot struggling for scraps of food. No...  _

 

_ "I get my inheritance when I go study at the university," Elliot said softly. "I'm going to ask father if I can bring you as my valet. Its not perfect, but once we get to the city I can give you your freedom." _

 

_ "That's more than I can do for you already, Elliot," Jamie whispered. "Thank you... Just don't give me freedom from your love. I don't think I can escape it even if I wanted to." He smiled.  _

 

_ "Nah, that's my bargaining price," Elliot kissed him soundly, allowing his hands to roam down and knead at Jamie's thighs. "You have to allow me to love you forever, even when you're old and cranky, and grey." _

 

_ "No permission needed," Jamie murmured, letting out a soft breath at the feel of Elliot's soft hands on his thighs. "I'll try to complain as little as I can." He grinned, nuzzling the other man.  _

 

_ "Good," Elliot nodded, and kept running his hands over Jamie's back. "I love how your skin feels, I don't get to touch you enough," he sighed as Jamie worked his way over the sensitive skin of his throat. _

 

_ "And I love your skin." It was soft and smooth and flushed under intense sunlight and cold weather. "I love kissing your cheeks," he whispered, kissing them as if demonstrating his point. "You know how they smelt a little like fresh warm milk back when you were younger?" he smiled. "Soft and aromatic and wonderful."  _

 

_ "Horrid," Elliot swatted him, cheeks flushing a bright pink. "You always like picking on me because you're older. I'll probably never need to shave," he rubbed his smooth cheek against the scruff on Jamie's chin. "But I love the way touching you makes me feel, warm." _

 

_ It was true, his belly gave a pleasant ache whenever their bodies touched. And Jamie's mouth on his skin was enough to set him to whimpering. _

 

_ "Can you blame me?" Jamie chuckled. "You always flush so prettily whenever you're embarrassed or indignant." He rubbed Elliot's smooth cheek and smiled. "This is thanks to my kissing them all the time. No stubble will dare grow."  _

 

_ He held onto Elliot, a hand running down along his side. _

 

_ "Whatever the reason," Elliot sighed against him, pressing his body up to meet Jamie's. "Love, will you touch me?" he asked. _

 

_ Jamie smiled and nodded, lightheaded both from the fever and the way how Elliot was pressed against his body. "I am."  _

 

_ His hands slipped down under Elliot's shirt, seeking for skin and warm flesh, pinching a nipple and rolling it until it became hard under his touch, lips pressing opening mouth kisses all along the planes of Elliot's body. _

 

_ "Gods, Jamie," Elliot moaned, his cock weeping between them as Jamie teased him. He stole a kiss, a open mouthed one full of tongue and their teeth knocking together as Jamie ravaged him. _

 

_ Jamie groaned, heart thumping fast in his chest as he let out a slightly harsh breath and moved down to take Elliot's cock in his mouth.  _

 

_ Elliot hadn't been lying, Jamie's mouth on him was amazing. And regardless of whether it was fever, arousal, or both, heating his mouth... his lover swore he wouldn't last long. _

 

_ It was a shame that Jamie couldn't take Elliot in all the way because he could barely breathe through his nose, but he worked his tongue diligently, lapping and tracing and sucking on Elliot's cock and balls, nuzzling his groin, hands running up along his inner thighs. _

 

_ Elliot kept up a soft litany of praises, his fingers tangled in Jamie's hair, which was long for winter. He groaned softly at the warm lips on him, but the intimacy of his lover kissing his thighs brought him closer than the sex. _

 

_ Jamie could feel that, his hands travelling along the underside of Elliot's thighs while he turned just so to nip at Elliot's hipbones, cool skin pressing against his feverish one brought relief and intensity at the same time, making him groan and shiver.  _

 

_ "Jamie, come here," Elliot patted the blanket beside him, beckoning his lover. "There's oil in my bag, will you have me?" _

 

_ "Of course," Jamie whispered, coming up next to Elliot as he sniffed a little. "How do you want to do this?" he asked quietly, reaching for said bag.  _

 

_ "However is comfortable for you," Elliot smiled and looped his arms around Jamie's neck, lying his ear against his heartbeat. "Do you want me on my knees?" _

 

_ "If that's what you want," Jamie whispered, holding Elliot close, finally smelling a bit of that soft, sweet scent, which he had come to associate with Elliot. "I don't mind it either way."  _

 

_ "I'd rather stay close," Elliot admitted, nestled against Jamie's throat. He rolled over so Jamie's arm was still around him, Jamie's erection already hard against his pucker. _

 

_ Jamie hissed softly, leaning up to kiss Elliot before rolling his hips to push into him.  _

 

_ "I like ye behind me," Elliot whispered. "I can feel your heartbeat, while you take me." _

 

_ "And I want to see your face lost in pleasure," Jamie whispered back, pressing kisses all along Elliot's back, rolling his hips to push farther in.  _

 

_ "Should I turn over?" Elliot moan as the thrust had his cock weeping in Jamie's hand. "Gods, Jamie. That's incredible." _

  
_ Jamie shook his head. "Stay as you are. Whatever makes you happy." He nibbled on Elliot's earlobe, pulling out and pushing in once more, slowly, and stroking his hand in the same rhythm.  _


	15. Chapter 15

_ "You're too good to me," Elliot whimpered as Jamie teased at his foreskin, sack swollen between his legs. He clenched his muscles tighter just to hear Jamie catch his breath. _

 

_ He did, and Jamie had to take in a gulp of breath to steady himself before thrusting back into Elliot, nipping at his neck and clavicle.  _

 

_ "Jamie... Love," Elliot whimpered and came, tight around his lover. _

 

_ Jamie cried out and came too after a moment before pulling out to roll next to Elliot, chest heaving still. "Well," he said once he caught his breath. "At least that seems to have cleared my nose for a bit." He laughed, pulled the blanket over them and brushing the hair out of Elliot's face.  _

 

_ "Good," Elliot cradled Jamie against him and caught his breath. "Would you like food, or a nap first?" _

 

_ The storm howled, and the wind rattled the doors. But the barn was warm, and Elliot was happy to be beside his lover. _

 

_ Jamie hummed, curling into Elliot. "Sleepy," he mumbled with a sigh, smiling as he nuzzled in. _

 

_ "Then rest," Elliot tucked the blanket around them. _

 

***

 

"That was the best snow storm I've ever spent," Q smiled at James. "Now, if you look at the cave and river... They create a crossroads. I think we need to do the ritual there."

 

"I agree," James nodded before frowning  a little. "The house itself is built on a junction, too, so shouldn't it work as well?"

 

"Hmmm... That's true," Q nodded. "Skyfall is as well, isn't it?"

James blinked. "I'm not sure." He shook his head. 

 

"I can't imagine that it wouldn't be, something led you to choose it," Q frowned. "Can you show me where it is on google map? I want to check something. In the grimoire, there was a map with the ley lines on it."

 

James nodded and stood to retrieve his bag with his laptop in it and returned to type in the address and show Q where it was. "Here." He turned it over so his lover could see it. 

 

"Outside Glen Etive, wow..." Quentin traced his finger across the map. "That place is full of them. and there's one that runs directly from here to there. They're both ley line hubs, places where a number of lines intersect. The Oracle at Delphi is a famous example."

 

James stared and nodded slowly. "You must have helped me chosen it or something... I can't believe in all of this to save my life without you here to convince me."

"Well... I don't know, I only remember you talking about it," Q said thoughtfully. "How did you come to own it?"

"I don't remember much else right now either... I myself only inherited from my father."

"Well, it got us here," Quentin smiled and got a bowl of cobbler and ice cream. "I'm going to gather the things for the spell. Did you find anything interesting in the property deeds?"

"Just starting to read them now," James said, hoping he'd actually find something useful because being near that witch hadn't helped the trip one bit.

Quentin brought the cauldron to the table and added the ingredients, reciting the latin under his breath. "Will you bring me a stick from the fire?"

James nodded and stood, picking up a stick, fire flickering at one end. He brought it over, careful not to get the ember caught into the copied documents.

"Drop it in," Quentin said softly. "And focus on what we want."

James did, and because he was a selfish bastard, he let this thought looping over and over in his head:  _ Let us grow old happily together. Let us grow old happily together. _

"What are you muttering?" Quentin asked with a smile. "Shame I can't read lips."

James chuckled. "They say wishes don't come true if you say them aloud." He winked.

"Fine," Quentin pressed a kiss to James's lips. "I think we just let it burn now. Let's look through those papers," he picked the first up off the stack.

James nodded and spread the papers out for Quentin to look at with him, the wafting smoke from the cauldron curling around them a surprisingly not-too-bad scent, borderline pleasant. 

 

"Here's Bradley," James murmured. Bradley from the journal that detailed about when this house was being built.

"So he was the one before Elliot?" Quentin checked his list.

 

James shook his head. "After... He was there when the house we're staying in was built. You know? He said that the previous one was flooded, and that the people came together to build this place?"

"Ah that's right, so after Jamie and Elliot..." Quentin chewed on his pen thoughtfully. "So... Were Jamie and Elliot even here? I don't think so. The forest in those drawings doesn't look like here. Can I see what it looks like at Skyfall? Maybe we started there... And then came here?"

"Jamie had been in that house that was destroyed in the flood," James said. "I showed you his name here..." He pushed the list over once more. "At some point... I, or Jamie, must have acquired the house somehow..."

"So they... this is confusing," Quentin rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm going to brew more tea. so as far as we can remember, Elliot and Jamie were going to leave when Elliot started the university. But then Angela told on them..." Q studied the chart. "Oh... London. They moved back to London," his eyes widened. "And Elliot... died I think. Of an illness... but really a broken heart."

 

James sighed, because he never liked to hear how one of Q's past lifetimes had died—it was always so lonely—and nodded. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you," he whispered. 

 

James froze. "Angela?" he murmured, eyes a little wide as he tried to think about this. "She... she started out a normal maid..." he whispered. 

 

"She started out as a normal maid," Quentin frowned. "But... she came to London with my father when we were rooming at the university. Why?"

"Because..." James whispered, his eyes flickering around as he tried to remember. 

 

_ "Jamie... Jamie, please. Ye don't have to go with him. To London of all places... Please... That's too far. I can't come to see you." Arms wrapped around him tight, tears were falling... but he felt no love loss. _

 

"Because she was jealous and told your father about our relationship."

"Why?" Quentin turned pale. "Why would she? How did she know? We worked so hard to keep it a secret."

James felt near lightheaded as he shook his head a little. "She..." He frowned. "It seems almost like she had feelings for me... maybe that got her to pay more attention than other people... And she was a maid..."

"But we didn't have sex in the house," Quentin shook his head. "Only out at the shepherd's cabin. Although maybe I did come home smelling like us. I always wanted just one more kiss, and it never ended there."

 

There was the honk of a car horn, announcing Alec's arrival.

 

"I'll warm his plate, if you let Alec in?" Quentin said with a frustrated smile.

"We didn't even need to have sex in the house... If she had really wanted to know what I was doing when I was our herding sheep and what I was doing, she could have maybe sneaked out the moment the chance stroke." James sighed and stood up, looking out the grimy window, and nodded. "I'll go and get him."

 

He pressed a quick kiss to Quentin's forehead and headed to the door where Alec parked next to him and was getting his belongings out. 

 

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," James said with a smile.

"And miss the chance to meet your imaginary dream boy?" Alec handed over a bag with the sound of clinking glass. "There's vodka and Scotch, and I got gin as well. I didn't know what he likes, so we can all have a bit of each." Alec shouldered his bag from the boot. "So, tell me... does he still look the same? Wild mop of dark curls and emerald eyes?"

"It's the first meeting and you're already bribing him with liquor?" James laughed, holding the bag into his hand, not bothering to peer in: he knew Alec always got the good kinds. "Not so much imaginary as very real now..." James mused and nodded. "Yes... dark curls and bright emerald eyes." 

 

They headed inside, and James closed the door behind him after giving the surrounding an overall sweeping look. "And he's warming dinner for you, too."

"And your imaginary husband cooks as well," Alec smiled. "Where do I sign up?" He followed James into the kitchen. "Oh my god. He looks just like your sketches. He can't be real."

Those sketches barely did Quentin any justice, and James chuckled, coming over to kiss Quentin on the cheek and taking the warmed bowl of stew from his hand. "Alec, meet Quentin. Quentin, this is my friend Alec."

"The other seasick sailor," Quentin smiled. "Hello Alec, it's a pleasure. I hope the food is alright."

 

"I mainly live on takeaway and frozen things," Alec shook his hand and accepted the bowl. "James used to sketch you, when we were in the navy. Oh wow, this is really good," he added with surprise. "You have a future career as a chef."

 

"James was kind enough to take me into town to the grocer today, but thank you," Quentin blushed as he filled three glasses with ice and sat back down with his ice cream. "Save room for pear tart."

 

"I was only doing what I want to do," James told Quentin and smiled before turning over to Alec and whispered,  "Told you I wasn't dreaming him up."

"Well he looks real enough, and I know you didn't cook this," Alec smiled. "You look happy, James. He's good for you," he nodded towards their clasped hands.

James smiled at that. "He's the good side to me."

"Well it's a very good side," Alec smiled broadly. 

 

"Thank you," Quentin blushed. "It's a pleasure to have finally found him. So tell us about your research? We're just going over the titles for the house, trying to trace the past names and dates."

"I have only been interviewing people who believe they can remember their past lives first... Not many ways to ascertain whether that's real or not, but I'm working on it..." Alec replied. "If there's anyone I can trust not to lie, that will be James. So... do you remember your past life?"

 

James nodded. "Only recently after I met Quentin... Past  _ lives _ ." 

 

"There's journals, and sketchbooks... Photographs. Sound recordings," Quentin said.

 

"Wait, you have PROOF?" Alec asked, incredulous.

James laughed and nodded. "Yes. We do. Although proving them to belong to us from before would be something else." 

 

"We look the same," Quentin reminded. "And our handwriting is similar, give or take the quill pens. It might not be scientific proof, but it's good enough for me. And our voices are the same."

"Almost the same," James said, then turned to Alec. "But it's true that our handwriting resembled those from before."

"Well if you put me in clothes from a hundred years ago with those hair styles, I'd look different too," Alec reasoned.

"Yes, but our souls reincarnated, not our genes." James shrugged. "But there is an Asian myth; do you remember it?" His eyes turned back to Quentin. "They say that because lovers want to stay together for much longer than the span of one lifetime, they wish that they will still look the same in their next life."

"There was a movie... with Jackie Chan I think?" Quentin looked on his phone. "There was a song as well..."

"Asian people have lots of stories and movies about this," Alec nodded, and James peered over to look at Quentin's phone.

 

"Oh. A collaboration between Hong Kong and South Korea..." 

 

"See?" Alec smiled. 

 

"Well, Buddhism discusses reincarnation a lot," James agreed. It was no wonder there. 

"Well look at King Arthur... the English believed for centuries he would return when he was needed," Quentin pointed out. "That's the same premise, that someone comes back."

James nodded. "But it does get interesting when you consider that the West seems to think more in terms that only great people come back."

 

"Don't get me started about transcendentalism's Over-soul." Alec chuckled. 

"Yes, no one comes back as a maid," Quentin laughed. "Everyone was Cleopatra or Caesar. Highly improbable at the very least. You would think at least someone would want to come back as an artist or painter."

James nodded sagely. "If they can supposedly come back, then I see no reason why anyone else can't. No one is either significant or insignificant." 

"Exactly," Alec nodded. "So what i think is, the ones who come back had a large impact. The couples I read about, none were famous. But they made a significant difference to the people around them."

"Or maybe they just really want to be together again," James said, half joking, half not... Because the anguish whenever Quentin and he had to part... all of it was still imprinted in his mind. It ached and throbbed dully enough that sometimes, he supposed even death couldn't erase that.

"Well... lead by example," Quentin said thoughtfully. "And look at how many people are alone. It can be wonderful to find a surrogate family."

James blinked and turned to Quentin. "Surrogate family?" 

 

"A family who isn't necessarily blood related, but who is there for you when you need it," Quentin explained. "Like I consider Eve a sister."

 

"I know," James said. "I just don't see how the subjects are related." 

 

"I mean... if they were gay, they didn't necessarily have biological children," Quentin explained. "But that didn't mean they had no one around them."

 

"Oh, so you're saying who had the house in between?" Alec caught on. 

 

"Well that, and who needed them? I'm sure they had other friends who were gay couples as well," Quentin nodded.

 

James nodded, pulling his laptop over to start working on the timeline. "That still depends, considering how people would rather preferred to keep the fact that they were gay hidden back in the days so especially their friends and family wouldn't know," he muttered. Too dangerous to speak out about it. Even to a supposedly trusted friend, one could still get stabbed in the back... figuratively or literally.

 

"But I would think you'd know who the rumors were about at the very least, the old bachelors in town," Alec said thoughtfully. "He's onto something there, James. If 10% of the population is gay, there had to be more than the two of you. And most of the couples who have believed they were reincarnated that I read about were same sex couples, or those who didn't get a chance to be with their lover."

 

"Of course there has to be more than us. We're not so special that we're exclusive to this," James sighed. "What I'm saying is that, not that there wouldn't be very trustworthy people who knew, the chances of them revealing that they were homosexual to other people are small, too, given society and the mentality considered 'normal' at the time." 

 

"That is true..." Quentin agreed. "I wonder if the later couples knew anyone though... if they ever mentioned to anyone that they thought they'd met before. I suppose it's back to the journals again."

 

"Journals?" Alec asked.

 

"Yeah... there are piles... there's a whole library," Quentin sighed. 

"Journals, garden books... All sorts of things," James sighed himself. "We have barely gone through a section."

"So there might be all sorts of things hidden!" Alec grinned. "Can I see what you're working on?" He refilled the glasses with Scotch.

James pushed the files over to Alec and turned his laptop over, too. "This is a rough timeline I made from the things Quentin and I have read so far.

"And these are just the ones you've discovered so far?" Alec asked.

 

"I think as I sort through dates, these are all the different people," Quentin answered. "The rest are... gods... everything from sheep breeding records to family records. Although in light of what we've talked about, the records might bear further looking at, James."

James looked up and nodded. "More books to move then." He laughed softly.

"Yes," Quentin laughed and reached for the bottle of gin. "Maybe I should brew coffee, I have a feeling we aren't going to be sleeping much tonight."

"Are you sure?" James asked Quentin quietly. "You know you shouldn't overwork yourself."

"Well, I can brew it later if we want any," Quentin smiled, curling into James's side. "I'd rather sleep next to you wherever you end up."

"Probably in bed," James murmured, kissing Quentin's curls. "Soft and comfortable for you."

"You're spoiling me again," Quentin scolded fondly, leaning into James.

 

"Wow..." Alec marvelled. "I think I'm jealous. But I never dreams about someone like you, so... I'll just watch."

"I am extremely lucky to have found him... Really," James said softly, not knowing what else to say. "I'm sure you'll find your match."

"Not like that," Alec shook his head. "But maybe someone I can enjoy spending time with, if I ever settle down," he looked at the map. "James... This is Skyfall?"

James nodded. "It's Skyfall... Apparently, I planned on building it lifetimes ago."

"Wow," Alec traces a finger around the boundaries of the land. "Did your Da buy it, or was it just handed down?"

James thought about it for a moment, blinking as he did so, brows creasing. "I actually am not sure about this... but I think he bought it."

"Hmmm... We'll have to get the land records there as well," Alec stood and rinsed his plate. "Can I have dessert later, Quentin? I don't want to fall asleep."

James chuckled. "You'll groan in delight the moment you bite into his desserts." He stood, going over to the sink. "Let me wash these real quick."

"Well maybe a bite?" Alec wavered.

 

"Dig in," Quentin laughed, pushing over his bowl.

"Shit... That is good," Alec groaned. "I want to kidnap him."

 

"Over my dead body," James laughed.

"Sorry Alec, I'll feed you all you want," Quentin smiled. "But I can't be away from James again."

Alec chuckled at that, and nodded. "I know, Quentin. I'm only joking."

"I can't lose him again, Alec," Quentin looked up at him. "It's been too many times. One more might be the end of me."

James wiped his hands and went over to hug Quentin from behind, tightening his hold into a gentle squeeze. 

 

Alec nodded. "I'll do everything I can to help."

"Well, let's get started on the journals," Quentin sighed. "The stack isn't shrinking," he led Alec to the library and turned on the lights, almost tripping over a stack.

James caught him and pulled him back against his chest securely. "You are not going anywhere without lights anymore," he murmured.

"Oops," Quentin sighed. "I'm a klutz," he leaned into James. "Can you rebuild the... never mind," he laughed, pointing at the fireplace, where new wood was stacked, with kindling laid. "Good to see the ghosts are back."

 

"Ghosts?" Alec's voice came out squeaky.

"Eh..." James turned to look at Alec. "Didn't I mention that there were ghosts in this house?" He smiled sheepishly.

"NO! Why are there ghosts?" Alec asked carefully, studying the room around him. "Or should I just not ask?" 

"Better not ask," James laughed. "But they are rather friendly and helpful. So not much to worry there."

 

"Try to remember to be specific if you think out loud," Quentin added carefully. "They tend to be very literal about requests."

"Like Quentin said his shoes ended up in the bathtub once because he wasn't specific about what he thought aloud," James chuckled.

"Yeah, be very specific, if that's at all possible with thinking out loud," Quentin laughed. 

 

"Duly noted," Alec laughed, eyeing the stacks of books. "Wow, this is quite the variety. You weren't kidding."

"Yes," James agreed. "And I haven't even begun to bring down the other ones."


	16. Chapter 16

"So, you might want to see the sketch book first," Quentin handed it over to Alec. "Just be careful, there are flowers between the pages."

Blinking, Alec nodded and took the old sketch book, looking well-preserved despite its age. In the pages were sketches of someone who bore unbelievable resemblance to James—laughing, smiling, sleeping, or just sitting there and staring into the distance. "This was yours?" he asked quietly, careful not to let the dried and brown flower petals inside slide out.

"Yes," Quentin nodded. "I... My name was Elliot, my father bought Jamie at an auction. I adored him," he touched the dried flowers. "He made me these as a ring," he reached for James's hand, eyes wet.

James took his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing Quentin's palm, then each of his fingertips. "I promised him forever," he whispered, pulling Quentin close. 

 

Alec nodded solemnly. "Were Jamie and Elliott the first two, or were there others before him?" he asked quietly.

"I think they were the first," Quentin said. "As far as we've discovered. "

Alec nodded, closing the sketchbook carefully, not wanting to look too closely at something that held such an intimate memory, as if he was depriving them of their necessary privacy.

"We're still working out what happened," Quentin explained. "We've had some flashbacks, and reading the journals helped us remember," he squeezed James's hand.

James squeezed back. "Which made us realize, also, that someone has been trying to tear us apart for all these years. Over and over." His face was stone cold with muted anger at this.

"Do you know who?" Alec scowled. "I would think you had enough to contend with, trying to find each other again."

"A witch... She found us again." The expression on James's face darkened. "I asked you to come here again partly because I wanted you to help us keep an I on her... I know it's not an easy favor to ask, but... She feeds on the pain of our separation, and kidnapped me in my last life. And I can't let that happen again."

"Just tell me what needs doing," Alec said earnestly. "She won't win this time."

"Keep an eye on her first," James murmured darkly. "Before we find an opportunity to kill her cleanly."

"Just point me toward her, I came armed," Alec growled. "She has no idea what's coming."

James shook his head. "We need to make it clean. This is a small town, and I don't want any of us to get into trouble."

"Maybe that's why the house fire?" Quentin said thoughtfully. "And the flood."

James shook his head. "Not the flood... Robert Bradley came home because of that flood... He hadn't even been there when it happened, and assuming that he was one of our past lifetime, then that doesn't really add up. But the fire is likely it, like you said."

"Can I see your chart?" Alec asked. "I think we should group the journals by author to start."

James nodded, letting him see the chart, as they started going through the journals once more.

"This is incredible," Alec shook his head. "It may not pass as scientific proof, but it's more than I have heard of anyone else having. Its reassuring too, some couples are afraid it was shared psychosis."

"Ah, folie à deux," James nodded. "But yes, I'm glad at least these remain. Otherwise, we'll probably just as lost."

"I don't think many couples have had the physical anchor you two have to this place," Alec said thoughtfully.

 

"I think it was the stag, and the spell," Quentin said. "We made a vow to find each other again."

"The stag?" Alec raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like the symbol of Skyfall?"

 

James nodded. "It was a huge, white stag. The both of us were originally in Scotland, and we met it one day in the forest. I believe it blessed us."

"So... Are there records there as well?" Alec wondered. "Have you ever searched the library, James?"

James paused and shook his head. "We don't have a library, but I never looked through my father's study room either once my parents died."

"Definitely worth a look," Alec suggested. "And this repeating stag theme, if it belongs to the two of you, how did your dad get it?"

"I told you, he probably bought it after stumbling across the property. Or maybe someone did before him and just simply left it to him," James replied.

"Worth more research," Quentin agreed, and curled up next to James to flip through the sketchbook. "I can't get over finding this," he said softly, touching the drawing of Jamie in front of the fire.

Nuzzling Quentin, James smiled. "Strange to think that I was someone's muse." He pressed a kiss to his lover's temple, reaching for a journal.

"Read it to me?" Quentin asked softly, eyes getting heavy as he lay on James's lep.

James carded a hand through Quentin's hair as he began:

 

_ December, 1912. _

 

_ Most of everybody has left to go home and enjoy their winter holiday... which is a good thing. Not so many people to keep an eye out for anymore; even that bastard Tom has gone home. Good riddance. I hope that stupid car of his dies in the middle of nowhere. _

 

_ I have been having strange dreams lately, about things and places I haven't experienced or gone to before, so the vividness of them all is so strange.  _

 

_ On another note, Andrew and I are trying to see if we can lure our professors into letting him use the chemistry lab or not. Quite a feat to manage, given the fire he started once, but well... We'll see. _

Quentin and Alec laughed at that.

 

"Oh, I knew I liked him," Alec sputtered. "What was he working on?"

James chuckled and shrugged. "Not sure. But Quentin did say Andrew blew up the lab while trying to impress me." What was his name in this lifetime... James turned to the first page, then the last before he spotted a scrawl of  _ Hugh Sanford. _

 

"Do you remember what Andrew was working on?" he asked Quentin with a smile.

"Um..." Quentin made a face. "Something to work on pneumonia, I think. Asthma, maybe?"

James nodded with a smile. "Brilliant." He massaged his fingers into Quentin's scalp.

"I lost a sibling to asthma," Quentin shivered. "My little sister. It was fatal then, a far cry from keeping an inhaler in your pocket."

Pausing at that, James nodded solemnly before continuing to card his fingers through the thick luscious curls. "I'm sorry to hear that," he whispered quietly.

"It was a long time ago," Quentin sighed. "I sort of remember the wake, it was sad. But it was common then."

James nodded. "It was still an upsetting event," he said softly. "You were brave. Still are."

"Medicine has come a long way," Alec said softly. "How are we planning on capturing this woman though?"

"I suppose we need to observe her routine first before trying to lure her out, and perhaps burn her," James murmured darkly.

"What about a sniper bullet?" Alec asked. "Or would that be too obvious? I have my rifle in the car."

"It's a small town, Alec," James reminded him again. "The moment she ends up with a bullet square in her head, they'll start pointing at newcomers, especially when we had just had a... rather heated conversation with her this afternoon."

"Too bad," Alec shook his head. "If burning didn't work before, how will it work this time? We need something more permanent to keep her dead, make sure she can't come back." 

"We are not sure yet why burning her didn't kill her last time. I don't even have a complete memory of what happened myself." 

 

"We need to find the journal when she was burned," Alec suggested. "It will give us an idea where to start."

 

"Let me see if the grimoire has any ideas on how to keep someone from being reborn," Quentin opened the leather tome.

"Coming out of anyone else's mouth, that would have been rather sinister," James chuckled softly as he stood to look through the journals, searching for what he assumed would be the newer one among the rest of the old ones.

"Well, we don't have other options. I wish there was a less drastic one," Quentin sighed. "If there was anyone listening, this sounds like premeditated murder."

"It is premeditated murder," James pointed out. "We're trying to take down a witch permanently."

"Shh, I'm still in denial," Quentin shook his head. "I feel like it's more of a public service really. How many other lives has she ruined?"

 

"He isn't one of us, James," Alec reminded softly. "He processes differently, he needs justification."

"I know," James said quietly, impassively, as he searched through the stacks of journals. "Which is why I'd rather it if you left this to Alec and I, Quentin."

"I'm trying, but I have to play a part," Quentin's hands shook as he flipped through the book. "I've always been the spell writer."

James sighed and gently turned to pluck the book away from Quentin's grasp. "We'll do it right this time, so you don't have to that... She'll be too dead to even try anything."

"No, it's my fight too," Quentin argued. "What if it fails, and it's because I was scared? I'd rather be sure. At least let me help."

"You are helping... but forcing yourself to curse someone... That's not healthy either," James implored softly.

"I'm not cursing her," Quentin said softly. "But I am going to ensure that we always find each other. And that we always get a happy ending. There are things I can do to make that happen, that aren't a direct curse to her."

James nodded quietly. "Okay... I don't want you to dirty your hands because of this... Leave all of that to me."

"It's no different, James," Quentin pulled him closer. "You're doing it because of it, it affects me. And I need to know that we'll be ok. I'd rather have blood on my hands than be without you."

"Leave the fighting to me." James looped his arms around Quentin's waist. "All I have wanted was to protect you... At least let me try and do this for you, for us, without you having to soil your hands."

"Okay," Quentin nodded, nuzzling at him. "I... would it be alright if I lie on your lap for awhile?"

"Of course." James nodded. "Anything for you."  And he sat down, patting his lap as an invitation. "I'd like that actually." He smiled.

Quentin made himself comfortable, James's fingers in his hair soothing. "Excuse me if I fall asleep, Alec. All this is more excitement than I've had since the accident."

 

"Of course," Alec nodded, but shot James a questioning look.

James shot him a look back that said,  _ "I'll tell you later," _ and continued to card his hand through Quentin's hair.

Quentin was soon fast asleep, breaths deep and even. He murmured something in his sleep against James's palm and started snoring.

James smiled a little before exhaling a soft sigh. "He had a horrible accident a year or so ago... and had to go through physical therapy a lot to get to where he is now..."

"Is he... is he in pain?" Alec asked, hesitantly. 

"When he works too hard," James whispered. "Let's call it a night; I'll bring him to bed. You've been driving the whole way, so get some rest, too."

"You love him," Alec said softly. "I've never seen you care before, not like this. You two sleep in tomorrow, I can amuse myself with the journals," he stood.

"I do love him," James agreed. "Lifetimes and back..." Before, he had never imagined it would be possible to love someone for so long. But now... now, no time was enough. Not nearly. "Thank you... Thanks for coming here on literally no notice at all, Alec." He sighed. "Do keep in mind what we told you about the ghosts though... and some of them tend to giggle at whatever they find amusing."

"Excellent, they can laugh at my bum," Alec rolled his eyes. "Honestly, how do you get into these things? Only you."

James chuckled as he carefully picked Quentin up, letting him nestle against his chest. "Like you haven't gotten into strange situation yourself."

"I was only interviewing couples," Alec retorted. "You have far more at stake. Keep him close... this house feels... wrong. Oppressive. Like there's about to be a lightning storm or something."

James paused at that. Because they had been soldiers once... working classified, high-profile missions that required both logical calculations and, frankly, gut feeling. "This house itself feels wrong, or...?"

"Something's about to happen, and it's going to be bad," Alec shook his head. "Get out while we can bad."

"I know." James sighed. "I want to take him back to London first before heading for Skyfall... But we need to finish Angela first."

"I wish we could just leave," Alec muttered as they parted ways at Alec's room.

"I know," James whispered with a sigh and brought Quentin back into their room, laying the man down onto the soft bed softly and carefully.

Quentin snuffled against him and clung to James, fingers tangled in his clothes.

James held onto Quentin closely, pressing a kiss to his forehead and carding through his hair once the duvet had settled upon them.

"I fell 'sleep," Quentin murmured, curling up close to James with a yawn. "M' sorry."

James hushed him softly, carding his fingers through Quentin's hair. "Don't apologize. It's been a long day."

"I wanted to get to know Alec though," Quentin smiled sleepily up at him. "Beyond that he gets sea sick. He's important to you."

James chuckled, pressing a kiss to Quentin's forehead, snuggling close. "We survived all those missions together... So yeah, he's like a brother to me."

"I'll make something nice for breakfast," Quentin murmured. "The house will give us one more day, won't it?"

"What do you mean, Quentin?" James asked quietly. He knew there was an ominous air, but the way Quentin was putting it, with them having literally time  _ limit _ now... It irked him.

"It feels like something is about to happen," Quentin frowned. "Ever since we saw Angela."

"I know. But the way you put it... It's like the house won't be tolerating us anymore or something."

"It feels... oppressive?" Quentin hunted for the right word. "Ignore me, just nerves I'm sure."

James shook his head. "I just need to know whether the house will turn on us."

"I..." Quentin licked his lips. "No. But it will try to capture her if she comes here. It wants to destroy her."

 

James sighed and stroked a hand up and down Quentin's back. "What should we do then?"

"Lure her here and get out?" Quentin sighed. "It will help. But we need to save the journals, and who knows if there are more memories hidden."

 

"Can we just pray that she comes here and the house destroys her?" James murmured, wry humor.

"Or lure her here... That's it!" Quentin sat up. "We have to kill her here."

James sat up as well. "She's a witch... would she know or sense something?"

"She can't sense inside the house," Quentin said thoughtfully. "She's blind here. So we need to lure her, and dump her later."

"Should I step out and lure her then? Considering that she seems... more or less intrigued," James murmured.

"Let Alec do it," Quentin shook his head. "We need to stay in here."

"She won't really be lured by someone who she hasn't met before, will she?" he asked quietly. 

"Probably not," Quentin sighed.

"I'll go... But we need to figure out a specific plan first... We don't even know for sure what the house will do to her." James sighed.

"True," Quentin frowned. "I just want it to be final this time."

James nodded, pulling Quentin back down into bed with him, holding him close. "We need to figure out a sure way to ascertain that this won't somehow spiral out of our hands?" 

 

"We can cast a circle to contain her," Quentin snuggled into him. "But there are no guarantees."

James thought about this for a moment, and nodded. "Sleep. We'll have tomorrow to think this through."

"Will you sleep too?" Quentin smiled. "At least don't let me get cold."

"Never," James smiled back, kissing Quentin's forehead and nuzzling him gently. "Let's sleep."

"Good night, love," Quentin snuggled into James and closed his eyes.

"Sweet dreams," James whispered, stroking through Quentin's hair.

Quentin nuzzled into James's neck, fingers over his pulse.

 

"I"m right here," the man murmured softly. "Right here, love."

 

"And I'm making sure you stay there," Quentin smiled.

James hummed. "I will, sweetheart." 

 

Quentin drifted off into dreams, securely holding on to James. Morning awoke them with the smell of coffee, and the smoke alarm.

James woke up with a start, alerted. But when he remembered that someone else was there with them... the man groaned and let out a sigh.

 

"Alec," he groused, getting up. 

 

"What on earth?" Quentin sat up, and fumbled for his glasses.

James gestured him to stay there as he dashed down to see what was going on.

"God dammit, get away from me," Alec was brandishing a frying pan, yelling at the wall.

"Alec!" James ran down and stared at his friend. "What are you doing? What's going on?"

"That girl with the pigtails, she's laughing at me," Alec yelled. "Bloody imp tied my shoelaces together."

James blinked. "What?" He paused. "You... You see them?"

"Look at my bloody shoes!" Alec pointed. "I can't even get out the knot."

"I know," James's eyes flickered to the laces. "But I've never seen a girl with pigtails, Alec. I only know her laughter, probably."

"Wait... You DON'T see them?" Alec's eyes widened. "Not at all? What about the housekeeper?"

James's eyes flitted around. "There's a... housekeeper?"

"She yelled at me for the coffee pot, said real coffee only gets made on the stove," Alec fumed. "Old bitty can make her own damn coffee."

James paused at that and reminded himself that, yes, there were ghosts here, and instead of seeing them, he  _ heard  _ them. "Well," he began, "she's not drinking it anyway, so best to just not pay too much attention."

"Does Quentin see them?" Alec asked suspiciously. "Or is this just a joke?"

James frowned. "None of anything has been a joke. And you can ask him that later when you meet him."

 

"I'm not part of the couple though, why am I seeing them?" Alec asked, slipping off his shoes. "Ugh... I burned the toast. I was trying to make breakfast as a surprise for you both. Quentin looked so tired last night."

"I don't know, Alec," James sighed, plucking the pan from his friend's hand. "It's okay. He'll appreciate the sentiment anyway."


	17. Chapter 17

"He appreciates it, but if you are going to burn down the house, at least make sure the witch is inside first," Quentin chuckled from the doorway. "I'm sorry Alec, I should have warned you better. James doesn't see them, so I figured no one but me did."

James turned to see Quentin. "Wait. How is it that I turn out to be the only one who doesn't see one?"

"I don't know?" Quentin shrugged. "I'm not sure how Alec can. There aren't exactly rules to this, love. I'd love to know who decided the bloody rules."

James frowned at that, but nodded anyway and set the pan back down on the hob. "Alright. You two sit down. I'll see what I can do for breakfast."

"There is some homemade bread from yesterday, we can make French toast," Quentin yawned. "You know, come to think of it... I haven't seen any of the house spirits since James has been here. Weird..."

"Let's hope there's still enough left for us to make decent toasts," James teased Alec a little, rummaging to do exactly that. "Really?" He perked up. "Do you see any now?"

"No... don't see a damn thing," Quentin sighed. "But I wonder... I'll wander around upstairs later and see if I can hear or see anything. I'm wondering, if we can use them to help us."

James nodded and started on the toast and some basic bacon, eggs, and baked beans.

"What if... everyone can see them, and they are choosing not to let James see them, because he would recognize them?" Alec asked. "Who are they, or who were they?"

James blinked and turned to where Alec was. "What makes you think so?" he asked quietly. "I haven't regained most of my memories from my other lives anyway."

"Just thinking out loud," Alec said. "But it stands to reason. Did the voices sound at all familiar?"

Should there be anyone listening in right then, they would have probably thought that James was schizophrenic. 

 

The man thought about it for a moment, stilling himself. "I think so..." he murmured with a frown.

"The girl..." Quentin said thoughtfully. "A sister? A daughter?"

James's frown deepened. Alec said she had pigtails...

 

His eyes flickered as he tried to think, catching sight of the impossible knots in Alec's shoe laces.

 

Something jolted in heart, and James grimaced. 

 

_ "Charlie?"  _

 

The name rang in his ears. 

 

_ "Charlie, can you braid my hair for me?" Someone was handing him a brush, small, delicate fingers wrapped around the handle. _

 

_ "Tell me a bedtime story." It was a story he had read a thousand times and would read a thousand more, given the chance. _

 

_ "Can I have some ice-cream? Pretty please?" It had been too hot, that summer. They hadn't the money to afford her a nice summer dress that the other girls in town had had.  _

 

_ "Charlie? Charlie... please... please... don't go. Please. The war will take you away." _

 

_ She cried, coughing so much as she did. _

 

_ The next day, he found his shoelaces tied into knots: her best effort at trying to make him stay home.  _

 

"Karen?" he whispered, wide-eyed. "Karen?" He repeated this time, louder, choked, looking around before pausing and suddenly hurrying upstairs, back to the room Quentin had let him stayed in when he first came here. 

 

That had been Karen's room. 

 

"Karen?" he called, opening the door.

"Charlie?" The little girl stood and ran toward him, wrapping around his waist. "Charlie! You came back. Mama said you were missing, and then I got sick..." she frowned. "I can't remember."

Breath stuttered out of James's lungs and he knelt down to hug her fiercely. "Karen," he whispered, rocking her back and forth. It felt so real... too real. "I tried to come back... I tried to, but..." He pursed his lips, not knowing what else to say. 

 

Karan had always been a sickly child. And his leaving had only ailed her further. 

 

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I... Will we have ice cream now?" She asked hopefully. "Quentin said there's some, and pie."

"Of course." James picked her up, and she was already holding tightly onto him, skinny legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. She felt so real... Was this just how it was, or was it just his brain supplying any other information needed to fill in the blank? "Anything. Anything for you." 

 

He brought her downstairs, eyes stinging. She was using the end of her pigtail to tease at his back again, and James stared at Quentin for a long moment before he said, "Can we have a bit of pie and ice cream?" He swallowed thickly.

Quentin stood, mouth open. "Of... Of course. Hi, I'm Quentin," he smiled at the girl, eyes wide.

 

She turned to look at him, still holding onto James, bottom lip sucked into her mouth. "Hi..." she said shyly a bit later. "I'm Karen." She paused for a second before continuing: "Thank you for bringing Charlie back... I missed him a lot. I think I fell asleep last time while I was waiting for him." 

 

James drew him a shaky breath, stroking up and down her back. "It's okay. I'm here now."

"Well, he was gone awhile," Quentin made her a plate. "Where did Charlie go, Karen? We're trying to figure out how you got here."

 

"And what is the last date you remember, Karen?" Alec took a pad and pencil out of his pocket.

 

James sat down and carefully let her sit propped up on his lap. 

 

Karen blinked at Alec for a moment. "Tuesday... November 4th, 1944." She pouted a little, looking sad as she played with her pigtail. "Mama said Charlie went to Normandy... and went missing. I think I was waiting for him when I fell asleep." 

 

James kissed her forehead, throat tight. That was probably the day she died...

"Oh... We never figured out who Charlie's partner was," Quentin said. "Karen, did Charlie have a best friend, or someone he spent a lot of time with?"

"Eat your ice-cream, sweet," James told Karen softly, suddenly worried that she would not be able to eat it... in her state. That would sadden her... and he neither want to explain why she wasn't able to eat what was right in front of her should she outright ask, nor see her cry.

 

"He did." Karen nodded. "They talked on the telephone sometimes, and William always sent me these pretty frames of pressed flowers."

"Did you meet him?" Quentin asked hopefully. "He sounds nice."

Karen nodded, picking up her spoon in that still so small hand. "He looked like you, Quentin." She smiled, and James held his breath when she scooped a bit of ice-cream and brought it to her mouth.

 

He didn't exhale until she had it in her mouth and turned back to him, bouncing in his lap. "Charlie, this is so good!" she beamed. 

 

James smiled back, pained because of how easily pleased she was. "Isn't it?" He stroked her head. "Eat up."

"Did William live near here? How did Charlie meet him?" Quentin asked.

 

"We're having trouble figuring out how you got here, and how did Charlie get here," Alec told Karen. "Maybe you can help us solve the mystery."

 

At this, Karen seemed confused. "What do you mean? Charlie and I grew up here..." She blinked, going back to sucking on her bottom lip now. "I don't know how they met, but I think Charlie said William was from another place..."

"Well... It's hard to explain," Alec offered. "But it's not 1944 anymore. The war has been over a long time."

 

"Alec," James spoke up suddenly, looking up at the other man, something like a warning glint in his eyes. 

 

"It's... not 1944 anymore?" Karen asked, blinking and tilting her head to the side. "Charlie... what does that mean?" She turned to him, wide-eyed. 

 

"It's nothing, Karen," he told her, stroking her hair. "Finish your snack, and I'll tell you later, okay?" He smiled, and swallowed when she beamed back. Karen was a smart girl... she was just too happy to have her supposed brother back. 

 

"Okay," she replied. "Can you fix my hair later, though? It's crooked... I don't like how Mama does it." 

 

"Of course." He kissed her forehead. 

 

Quentin shot Alec a worried look. "Have some breakfast as well, Karen. You can't just have ice cream and pie," he fixed them each a plate and sat down.

 

The food didn't disappear bite by bite from the bowls and plates, but Karen seemed to be enjoying it just fine, and James watched as she thanked Quentin, her legs swinging back and forth. 

 

"I'm sorry for tying up your shoe laces, Mister Alec," Karen said guiltily. "I didn't mean to upset you."

 

"Well I'm just glad we got it straightened out," Alec smiled at her. "You're more than welcome to come and say hi, but I'd rather not burn the toast."

 

Karen blushed. "Sorry..." She played with her pigtail as she ate, seemingly delighted by the food.

 

"Slow down, Karen," James murmured with a smile.

 

"I think Karen might have been the one who laughed when you burned the toast," Quentin smiled.

 

"I rather think she did," James chuckled. "Didn't you, little imp?" 

 

He tickled her, and she laughed, squirming in his grip. "No fair! Charlie!"

 

"Do you ever go in the library, Karen?" Quentin asked. "We're going to look at the journals.”

 

"What in the library?" Karen asked curiously. "I don't go there often. Usually, Charlie pick out books for me, and we'll read together." 

 

"The people who lived here before wrote in journals, like diaries, about themselves," Quentin said. "What did you and Charlie read?"

 

"Fairy tales... Biology, history... lots of things." She smiled. 

 

"Simplified," James added. 

 

"Charlie loves you a lot," Quentin smiled and laid his head against James's shoulder.

 

James pulled him closer quietly as Karen turned around and hugged James. "I know. And I love Charlie lots, too." She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. 

 

"Good," Quentin stares down at her. "Karen, who is the woman in the kitchen who complains when Alec and I cook? I don't remember."

 

"Oh... That's Olivia. She said she's the housekeeper here," Karen replied, playing with the buttons on James's shirt. "She doesn't like it when other people cook in the kitchen, especially you, Charlie." 

 

James chuckled. "Well, I do remember that. She kept trying to shoo me away I think... Not that I noticed much of anything other than the floorboards creaking and some dishes rattling." 

 

"Hmmm... I think Alec had a fight with her earlier," Quentin laughed. "He makes the coffee wrong."

 

Karen laughed as well. 

 

"Well," James began with a grin. "If she can complain when you're the one doing the cooking, then both Alec and I must have been a travesty to her kitchen." 

 

"Because you have never liked cooking, Daniel," a voice spoke up suddenly, and James froze. "Not that you should be cooking anyway, in my opinion." 

 

It was Olivia, and the woman stood there, looking rather sternly at them all. 

 

"Wait... Daniel?" Quentin spoke up.

 

"Yes. Daniel, whose younger lover was sent to marry in America after their relationship was discovered before Daniel died himself without a clear cause, per what you said."

 

"Oh!" Quentin looked surprised. "So... Karen and Olivia are from different times."

 

Olivia nodded. "We are." 

 

"Do you know why you're here?" Alec asked.

 

"Other than preventing the house from being sabotaged?" Olivia raised an eyebrow. 

 

"Who would sabotage the house?" Alec interrupted. "That crazy witch from town?"

 

"Stupid adolescents, anyone who wants this place gone to raise the real estate price of the area in general." Olivia shrugged.

 

"I didn't realize anyone knew it was even here," Quentin said. "What year did you come to slope house, Miss Olivia?"

 

"People know, just not the specific location. But that's not too hard for some determined individuals now, is it?" Olivia murmured. "Around 1873."

 

"Wow," Alec whistled. "So there's quite a big difference. Is there anyone else that is still here?"

 

"Just one," Olivia replied. "He mostly keeps to himself in the library." 

 

"Who is he?" Quentin asked. "I haven't seen anyone."

 

"Doctor Winston's boy," Karen piqued up. "He's awfully shy." 

 

"Dr. Winston... OH! One of the boys he adopted?" Quentin asked. "Maybe you can introduce us?"

 

Karen nodded. "One of the boys he adopted... I'll see if I can call him or not." She leant up to peck James on the cheek and hopped down onto the floor from his lap.

 

"Careful," the man warned, watching her with a spike of worry as she laughed and ran toward the direction of the library. 

 

"What do you make of it?" Alec asked.

 

James turned to look at Alec. "Of what?"

 

"One ghost from each reincarnation? Each life?" Alec asked, jotting down more notes. "This is fascinating to me."

 

Somehow, the fact that Alec was referring to Karen as a ghost bothered him, even if it were the truth. "Only three lifetimes though..." He began. 

 

"What about Skyfall?" Quentin asked. "Are there ghosts there?"

 

"I didn't believe in ghosts until I arrived here," James reminded Quentin. "And I haven't been back there for a long time already, so I wouldn't really know."

 

"We need to take a trip there, when this is over," Quentin kissed James's cheek. "No offense Alec, but a nice romantic weekend with just the two of us."

 

James smiled just as Alec laughed. "Of course. I know when to back off." 

 

"I want to see if there is still a stag," Quentin said wistfully, as he finished his breakfast, and Olivia took his plate. "I can wash that, really," he protested.

 

"The real one or the statue?" James asked teasingly.

 

"Yes, yes. You always insisted so whenever you came over before, too," Olivia murmured.

 

"When was the last time you remember me being here?" Quentin stopped and asked.

 

"1887," Olivia replied. "That last time you two met before your relationship was discovered." 

 

"1887... so, you didn't see when I came back the other times? What about when Karen was here, and Charlie was here before the war?" Quentin asked.

 

"Different versions of you came back," Olivia said. "Both of you." Her eyes landed on James for a long second. "I can see my young master, but, at the same time, you are not really him yourself." 

 

"Oh... so you do remember the others," Alec said quietly. "Have you ever gone through the journals in the library?"

 

Olivia shook her head. "I don't touch personal artifact because they're just that, personal."

 

"And what about the young man in the library?" Quentin asked. "Speaking of, where is Karen?"

 

"I don't think he does that either, and Karen is probably busy trying to draw Ian out." The woman sighed. "Best if you come there yourself. He's always like this whenever he sees that someone who looks like his doctor is back in the house."

 

"His doctor? Dr. Winston?" Quentin asked. "But that means... he's seen us all the times as well, poor lad. And it must trouble him to see me so young."

 

"I believe it troubles all of us... because, other than Ian himself, you two died young for both me and Karen," Olivia said quietly. 

 

"And Karen doesn't realize... do you?"

 

"She's young," Olivia said. "She doesn't understand everything yet, but I think she realized that she isn't strictly alive anymore." 

 

James closed his eyes and sighed. 

 

Quentin took James's hand and led him wordlessly to the library.

 

"Ian, Karen, are you here?"

 

James squeezed Quentin's hand as they went to the library. He could already hear Karen's voice coming from inside. 

 

"Ian... they want to see you. Really..." 

 

"Ian, can we come in?" Quentin knocked softly on the door.

 

There was a pause. Silence rang in the air, and it took a moment before the door opened. 

 

Karen was there, and James picked her up easily as they went farther inside.

 

There was another entity in the room: a young man, probably around Quentin's age or just a little younger, stood there in the middle of the library, wearing clothes with matching navy blue tailcoat and waistcoat, dark breeches, white shirt, and cravat. No powdered hair, however.

 

He would have looked important if the attire hadn't looked worn and just a bit threadbare.

 

The young man turned to face them, solemn eyes stopping where Quentin was.

 

It was a second later before he extended a hand. "Hello, Doctor," he said. "My name is Ian Winston."

 

"Ian, oh my gods," Quentin laughed, eyes watering. "You must be done with the university then... And back here? Why? You wanted to travel, son."

 

Ian swallowed, eyes watering as well. "T-They took our old house... and I could not... My business failed. I did not have the money to buy the house back, and..." He swallowed. "Then the new family moved whatever was left of your belongings here, and I could not let them go."

 

"Oh Ian, you're so young to be trapped here. You'll have to explain what happened," Quentin hugged the young man. "But do you remember I told you I had to find someone? This is James."

Ian leant into the hug and shivered, squeezing Quentin tightly before letting go. 

 

"I know who you are," he murmured as he straightened up, looking at James. "You're the person whom my father spent his entire life looking for."

 

And James hoped the undertone of bitterness there was of his own imagination. "Nice to meet you, too," the man replied.

 

"We missed each other that lifetime," Quentin sighed. "But tell me about the people who took the old house, what happened? James, could he mean Skyfall?"

Ian shook his head. "That house that was flooded before this was built," he said quietly. "It's... is it okay that I called you 'father'? I... I know you are not strictly him, but..."

"It's fine," Quentin laughed. "Its... Gods... I didn't dare hope I'd find you here. All the things I remembered, I thought they were dreams."

"Probably not," Ian smiled a little. "About what you asked... I was trying to open a printing press business in London. We were doing fine until a competition sabotage our machines and set the whole place on fire... I—I lost everything." He gritted his teeth, taking in a calming breath. "The bank even took our old house away to pay for the debt, and I... I could not do anything to stop it. Then I came down with tuberculosis." 

  
He gave Quentin a grim smile and shrugged.


	18. Chapter 18

"I'm sorry," Quentin squeezed him again. "But I'm glad you're here. We... there's a woman who is after us. She is the one that kept James and I apart, and I'm pretty sure she was involved in our deaths several times over. You were always good with logic, maybe you can think of something that I am missing."

Ian nodded and swallowed. "What do you need me to do?"

"She's been through most of the lives, right from the first," Quentin said. "I used the spell that I write when you were around, Ian. But we need to defeat her for good, and I'm not sure how to make that happen. I need to look through the grimoires again."

"I thought you were going to try and burn her?" Ian said, just quiet enough so Karen wouldn't hear this, before blushing a little. "I'm sorry, I overheard you talking." 

 

"We're going to try, but we have tried that before," Quentin sighed. "We need to make sure it works, and its final this time."

"We never knew why it didn't work," James reminded. 

 

"What spell are you specifically looking for?" Ian asked quietly.

"There was a spell for happily ever after," Quentin said. "But then... I'm thinking there has to be a spell to keep her dead. I'm not sure."

"If so then you would have to probably destroy her soul to keep it from reincarnating... But is that what you want? If she had been able to continually try to sabotage your relationship, then either she had been alive this whole time, or she must have developed a very efficient way to keep her hatred, there for whatever reason, alive from one lifetime to another to keep pursuing down this path," Ian pointed out. 

"We don't have a choice, she has to go," Quentin sighed. "But I am quite sure that she has no good left in her, if there ever was. So I'm not too worried about retribution."

Ian was nodding slowly when James spoke up suddenly, "She was jealous... when Jamie kept going to Elliott instead of her, even though she was his wife on papers." 

 

"Was she..." Ian began, "originally a witch?" 

 

"I'm not sure. Didn't seem to be." James shrugged. 

"She was a servant girl, for my father," Quentin said. "But I don't remember much more than that. I know she hated us. She was the one who told my father that we were intimate."

 

"Your father married her to me." There was a marriage certificate. And James remembered that he had had one of those flashes of memory about her before... where she was crying and begging him not to go... for the sake of the... unborn child.

 

The frown deepened on James's face. He was sure as hell he hadn't touched her, let alone impregnating her, then... "Your father got her pregnant," he whispered. 

 

"Ew," Quentin shivered. "That's... disgusting. But why pawn her off on you, as punishment? Or did she blackmail him into it?"

 

"Well, it wouldn't really look good on his reputation and fidelity that he had impregnated a maid now, would it?" James sighed. "Rumors are one thing, but obvious evidence is another, considering that she was, until then, without a husband." 

 

"True, so as soon as he found out, he married her off," Quentin wrinkled his nose. "But was it punishment for us being together, or did he find out later?"

 

"Probably later..." James whispered quietly. "I remember him driving me away when he found out..."

 

"And then I found you, and we ran away," Quentin said. "I have a feeling I'll spend the rest of this life reviewing all those journals, and never remember everything. It will be interesting to see what it makes you remember as well, James."

 

James frowned. "I don't know either..." It was strange, how these flashes kept coming. 

 

"Well, it will keep us occupied when we're old and grey," Quentin smiled. "Have you ever looked at the other journals, Ian, or the grimoires?"

 

"A little bit, but I don't delve on the journals. Those are private thoughts," Ian replied. 

 

"Did you find anything that might be useful, private or not?" Quentin asked. "We really need any help we can get at this point."

 

"Are you really going to stop her from reincarnating?" Ian asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

"We're going to do out best," Quentin said, determined. "Just once more, I'd like to die of old age, with James. We've lost enough time."

 

"I just..." Ian took in a breath. "I just don't want you to be killing anyone... father." 

 

"I... I don't know that there's another option, Ian," Quentin sighed. "Not if we are going to survive."

 

"If she has only been living one extended life... this is a grudge she has been carrying with her for years... Do you think she will still remember it once she has managed to actually die and pass on?" 

 

"Dammit... And come back," Quentin sighed. "Is there a way to mitigate the hate, destroy that and let her end this life and go peacefully?"

 

"Possibly..." Ian said. "If she had been a normal woman before... something dark possibly could have prayed on her weakness and amplified that hatred, so as to drive her to seek you two out and exact vengeance before feeding on that energy... The power of a bonded couple is powerful, after all." 

 

"But feeding off of our power?" Quentin asked. "All I can think is our power would only be beneficial for us. How could she use it?"

 

"Didn't you say she could have possibly fed off our pain of separation?" James asked.

 

"Oh, yes! So she is feeding off the pain, the negativity. Not the power of our bond, but the lack thereof?" Quentin asked James.

 

James nodded. "That seems plausible. But we're not sure of anything at this point to be honest." 

 

"No, but it can't hurt to think," Quentin mused. "Alright, everyone grab a journal. Let's find what worked in the past. Maybe if we put it all together?"

 

They all nodded, and started on that, although James actually gave Karen a biology book about flowers, butterflies, and moths to read. 

 

"She looks like you," Quentin whispered to James. "Its remarkable. I'm glad you got to find her."

 

"I'm glad you and Ian met again, too," James told him quietly. "But it... it hurts me that she's been waiting... all these years. And I know nothing about it... I'm not even strictly Charlie." 

 

"We may never know all the details," Quentin gave him a sad look. "And what happens to them after?" 

 

"After we die?" James asked quietly. 

 

"When we leave here? Will they cease to exist?"

 

"I don't know..." James breathed, eyes downcast as he turned over to look at Karen, who was busy looking at those black and white drawings and reading the printed words in the book. When he caught himself thinking that he should buy something in color for her, something new and pretty, James's throat tightened painfully. "Is it selfish of me to not want that to happen?" 

 

"No, not at all," Quentin shook his head. "It breaks my heart that Ian had such a hard time of it. I want him to have some happiness, after waiting here for me for so many years."

 

"I know," James nodded. "Then there's Olivia, too... There has to be a reason why she stayed behind as well, even if she doesn't talk about it." He sighed. "What do we do?"

 

"Bring them to Skyfall with us?" Quentin murmured. "Will they disappear when they cross the property lines? I don't know how it works with ghosts, and ours are tangible."

 

"What about the veins? Would it help?" James asked quietly.

 

"It might," Quentin shrugged. "It's all conjecture. There's no guarantees anything will work. God... just seeing Ian again. I got him after treating his parents for cholera, they passed. He didn't speak for weeks."

 

James sighed. "It's good that you got him out of his shell again. He's a good young man."

 

"He is, I'm sorry to see him though," Quentin admitted. "I would have wished him a long, healthy life, with a family of his own."

 

"I had hoped that Karen would have a long and good life, too..." He looked at the girl again and just happened to catch her looking at him also, a smile on her lips, which he returned. "Didn't happen though... She didn't even live past that winter." 

 

"Maybe if we make it right, they get a happy ending," Quentin said hopefully. "I'd like that, at least."

 

James nodded. "I hope so, too."

 

"Let's make sure we get this right this time," Quentin said. "Olivia, can you tell us why you're still here?"

 

James wondered if he should be surprised to see the woman walk through the door normally, but he dismissed the thought. "Maybe because I'm waiting for at least a decent ending for you two," she told them. 

 

"Try again," Quentin gave her a warm smile.

 

"Because I raised Daniel like my own child," she said, her eyes flickering to where James was. "I went from his wet nurse, to a caretaker, to the housekeeper of this place. I was there when he fell in love with you, when you two tried to meet each other secretly, when you were sent away... When the family ostracized him, when his health failed, when he died and they didn't give him the proper service he deserved." 

 

She was looking at James again, and the pain in her eyes was palpable. He didn't know what to say to her.

 

"Then when I couldn't pass on, there he was again, and you as well. Time after time after time... I never saw everything of what happened in its entirety; I never understood how your coming back was possible, but I know that you two have never had a good ending. That Daniel, even after all those lifetimes, has never had a good ending as well." 

 

She reached out and patted James's head a little. "I would only like to see that."

 

"Thank you, Olivia," Quentin whispered, leaning in to give her a hug. "Thank you for watching over him when I couldn't. We don't know how it's possible either, but... We want to get right this time, for all of us."

 

She sighed and hugged him back. "You've been through a lot as well... It's time you both get some peace." 

 

James stood and gave her a hug, too. "Thank you for looking after us." 

 

"Do you have any ideas?" Quentin asked. "The magic in this house, it's powerful. How can we use it?"

 

"It's mostly elemental magic," she told them. "So your best bet is to learn how to control those in small amounts first."

 

Quentin nodded, fading off into a memory…

 

Fire dancing at the tips of his fingers, playing hide and seek in the Skyfall woods on Beltaine.

 

"Come on Jamie, I'm practically lighting the way," he teased.

 

"Come now. That's unfair," Jamie laughed, running after the dots of fire. 

 

"How is it unfair? I don't want you hurt," Elliot laughed. "But I'd like to be caught while I still have enough energy for a tumble."

 

"Right in the woods? Young Master," Jamie gasped teasingly, branching out to run in a different direction, somewhat off to the side from the one Elliott was taking, then dashing as fast as he could before rounding back to hide behind a tree, waiting for his lover to come.

"Ompf," Elliot ran into him. "Its Beltaine, we're allowed one night in the woods," he teased, wrapping his arms around Jamie's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "They won't expect us back at the fire..."

"Are you sure?" Jamie grinned, holding onto Elliott. But really, he was beyond caring.

"Yes, I left us a change of clothes in the hut," Elliot smiled. "We can roll around in the dirt, and no one will be the wiser."

"So clever," Jamie smiled, kissing Elliott soundly.

Quentin opened his eyes with a gasp. "Do you think I can still do that?"

James blinked a little and nodded. "I think you can if you try and practice."

Quentin looked down at his fingers, and focused. They glowed red for  a second, but then it faded. "What other elements... how would I use them?"

 

***

_ "They won't find us in this wind, they won't dare leave the manor," Elliot yelled as they ran through the forest, their cloaks whipping around them. "Once we find shelter, I can call down the rain as well." _

_ "Should I even ask how you can call upon these sorts of things?" Jamie yelled through the gale, mirthful. _

 

_ "I don't know, it just sort of happens," Elliot grinned. "But it's a useful way to get rid of my father. I'm so glad we're out once and for all. And we aren't going back. That hag can rot." _

_ "Of course we're not going back!" Jamie grinned, squeezing Elliott's hand. _

 

_ "Good," Elliot grinned as they ducked into an abandoned barn. The wind howled outside, slapping the shutters back against the walls, but inside was warm. _

_ Once the door was shut tight, Jamie waste no chance to pull Elliott into his embrace. "I will do my best to take care of you, Elliott," he whispered. "I will do everything I can to make sure you have a comfortable life." _

_ "I don't need a comfortable life, Jamie," Elliot said. "I need you. I'd rather be happy with you in the shepherd's hut than in the main house. I don't need riches." _

_ "I know all that..." Jamie tightened his hold. "But that doesn't mean you don't deserve a good life, and I will try my best, Elliott... I know I have no money, no education, but I will give it my best shot, okay?" _

_ "There's two of us, you know, Jamie," Elliot said softly. "I can hoe a garden and cook, and do some sewing and hunting. We just need to get far enough away from here that they will stop looking. I want a place we can settle down and build a life, even if it is with our own hands." _

_ "You leave the hard work to me," Jamie said. "I'm used to that already, and you can manage everything else, cooking or gardening... or anything you feel like. I will take care of the rest." _

_ "Stop treating me like I'll break," Elliot scolded. "If I can keep up with you in bed, I can plow crops." _

_ "It's not about that, and you know it." Jamie pouted, taking Elliott's hands into his own. "I just want to keep these beautiful hands from being weathered, is all... You deserve better." _

 

_ "You make me sound like a bloody hothouse flower," Elliot scolded. "I'm stronger than I look, and there's nothing wrong with using my hands and putting some wear on them." _

_ "I know you're more capable than you look, much stronger than even me... I just... I only want to give you the best." Jamie kissed both his palms gently. _

_ "The best is being with you, Jamie," Elliot huddled closer. _

 

_ Jamie nodded, running a hand up and down Elliott's back. "That's all I need."  _

 

_ "Same," Elliot pulled off his pack and unwrapped bread and cheese. "At least we won't starve before the storm passes." _

 

_ Jamie smiled and took out the paring knife he had on his to start cutting up the cheese for the both of them. _

 

***

"Earth, I don't remember earth," Quentin muttered, opening his eyes.

 

"It may take some time," James said. "Don't force yourself too much." 

 

"Whether you do recall having performed the magic or not, that's still from another lifetime," Olivia said. "Do not take it lightly."

 

"I don't at all," Quentin bowed his head. "I wish I would have remembered when I was injured; it would have been comforting, at least."

 

"Take your time, Quentin," James whispered, pulling him into a comforting hug.

 

"How much time do we have, really though?" Quentin asked softly, turning to look over Ian's shoulder at one of the grimoire's. "Oh, this might actually work," he pointed to the page. " _ Arma Lucis _ , harness the light. What if we simply light the darkness, rather than trying to destroy it?"

 

"You say it as though this is a time bomb, Quentin," James sighed. 

 

"Does it work in the figurative sense though?" Ian asked.

 

"Time feels oppressive," Quentin sighed. "I don't know how else to put it. And I don't know, Ian. Magic isn't like mathematics, Intention, the participants, and the location, can all change outcome."

 

"Yes," Ian nodded. "But some spells are only fundamental ones and can only go so far. Like a spell to light up a candle or such things can only do that much: lighting candles."

 

"It's worth a try, this seems like it has potential," Quentin traced the lines with his finger. "It can be directed to encompass a person or object, and even used for healing. Hmmm... maybe that's what she needs."

 

"In the literal sense of that, it sounds like a spell to make people glow," James muttered wryly, and smiled when Karen giggled.

 

"It rather does, doesn't it?" Quentin laughed and focused on his fingers, making them glow and then pointing at Karen.

 

The little girl laughed and grabbed those fingers in her small hands, clearly delight. "So pretty..." she marveled, and James petted her hair. 

 

"I'll let you know first when I figure out how to do anything else," Quentin winked at her. "Would you show me what book you were reading?"

 

Karen grinned, flushing at the warm glow, before nodding and going over to fetch the book she had left just a few steps away and hand it to Quentin. "It's about flowers, butterflies, and moths," she said. "I see notes and typed words, too." There were, indeed, typed words that must have been the product of a typewriter there. 

 

"Wow, did Charlie help you make this?" Quentin touched the pages. "This looks awfully special."

 

Karen nodded eagerly, standing up on her toes to look at the pages. "He was already working on one for as long as I can remember," she told Quentin. "Then he'd take me out butterflies hunting whenever we can, and we'd draw all sort of things." She giggled excitedly. 

 

James felt his cheeks flushed a little at that for some reason. "We got my Da's old typewriter and started to type things up." 

 

"Can you show me the other ones he made?" Quentin asked. "I'd love to see."

 

"Uh... it's really not that"—James began, and Karen was already dashing off— "great." 

 

It was on one of the lower shelves that Karen could reach, and ones that James and Quentin hadn't got to just yet, and she went through all the bindings before taking out three more volumes, a handful, and brought it over. 

 

"Here, Quentin," she said, laying them out all on a small table. The first one was simple, filled with all sorts of plants, and doodles were still rough and stiff, with cursive scrawls, reminiscent of the time period, for notes about where it had been found, and what sort of usages they had. Some even had dried specimens pressed between the pages.

 

The second one was pretty much the same, with a few flowers now, and some birds. But the third one, probably done around the time Karen was old enough to start playing outdoor with Charlie, was all sorts of butterflies and flowers and months and colorful bugs. 

 

"Aren't they pretty?" Karen beamed. "I drew this one." She pointed at a ladybug. 

 

"Those are amazing," Quentin smiled at James, eyes watery. "You'll be a great father someday," he said softly. 

 

"Can you tell me what flowers you have, Karen?" Quentin asked. "I bet we might be able to use your books to help us find the flowers listed in the grimoire spells."

 

"I'm not so sure about that," James murmured with an awkward sort of flush. Charlie was the one who took care of Karen... He had never had any sort of inclination toward taking care of children personally himself... other than Karen, of course.

 

"Anything Charlie marked with a blue underline we have," Karen smiled, rather proud of these books.

 

"It's growing on the property, or you have samples in the books?" Quentin sat on the floor next to her and bent to smell a bouquet of dried daisies. "Oh, these are the same kind as were in my sketchbook!" He told Karen.

 

"On the property, I think..." Karen tilted her head and look at the daisies. "Those? Oh, we have them a little farther into the woods. They're really cute." 

 

"Let me show you something," Quentin opened his sketchbook and showed her the drawing with the stag. "This was the first time I was in love with Charlie. His name was Jamie then. He gave me these flowers, made a ring of the for me," he showed her the ones still dried between the pages.

 

Karen breathed in amazement, only touching the dried flowers in Quentin's sketchbook light, knowing very well how fragile these pressed specimens were. "Charlie loved you... in a different lifetime, too..." She looked up at them suddenly at that, eyes wide and bright with wonderment. "That's beautiful..." 

  
"I was very lucky," Quentin said softly. "Charlie has loved me a lot of times, Karen. Not that I can explain it. But I've been... fortunate," he smiled at his lover. "We're hoping this time, you'll be there too."


	19. Chapter 19

Karen paused at that, looking at Quentin for a long time. "Really?" she breathed, her focus shifting over to James, who nodded with a wide, sincere smile. 

 

"Yes, Karen," the man told her softly and smiled when she ran over to Quentin and gave him a tight hug, squealing happily.

 

"Thank you, thank you! You're the best!" 

 

"If there's a way we can make it happen, I promise," Quentin said softly. "I want Ian and you and Olivia to have lives outside of here, other memories than waiting for me here, alone."

 

"You want us to... be there, too?" Ian asked softly. 

 

"Of course all of you, too," James said with a small smile. 

 

"Yes," Quentin nodded. "I want you to be happy, Ian. Have that business you dreamed about, and a family. I know it may not seem like it, but there's life outside these walls. We just have to figure out how to get you there."

 

That stopped Ian for a bit. "How am I going to do that now that I'm like... this?" he asked slowly. 

 

"We'll work on figuring that out, just like we're figuring out what to do with Angela," Quentin promised. "We're going to be a family."

 

Ian nodded quietly. "I just don't know if... entities like us can do anything else other than this."

 

"We'll at least try," Quentin smiled. "Now, have you three tried leaving the house?"

 

They shook their heads. "I don't think we have," Ian replied.

"Let's try it," Quentin suggested. "Can you show us where the daisies grow, Karen?"

For a second there, James almost didn't want Karen to go. Because if she disappeared once she tried to step out of the house, then he would never have another chance to take care of her, to make up for all the time she had waited for him.

 

But then again, the same went for the others, and so James kept quiet, reaching for Karen's hand and telling her to lead on.

 

The girl beamed and led him out of the library without any hesitation.

Quentin squeezed James's hand and led the way out the kitchen door. He.turned once he was in the yard to see if the others were.still visible.

 

They were still there, albeit a little hesitant to see the world again, except for Karen of course.

"Wow, it looks nice after the rain," Quentin grinned. "Alright Karen, where are the daisies?"

"This way!" Karen smiled, leading James toward that direction which led to the edge of the forest.

"Oh... This is lovely," Quentin smiled as they made their way through the brush.

The fertile land had dried to a good and moist level, encouraging vegetation to grow, including flowers. That beaten path Karen had led them on opened to a clearing, cooling with soft breezes brushing by the heads of the grasses and swaying daisies, freshly bloomed. 

 

"Here," Karen smiled.

"Wow, those are lovely," Quentin squeezed James's hand. "I wonder if they're the same kind as at Skyfall?"

James tried to wrack his brain and remember, but couldn't. "I'm not sure," he said, a little apologetic.

"What other flowers are there?" Quentin asked Karen as he picked a bunch of daisies.

 

"Hydrangeas, lilacs..." Karen began counting with her fingers.

"Show us?" Quentin asked. "I want to put some inside the house."

"I think it's in the abandoned greenhouse," Karen said, uncertainty in her voice. "The hydrangeas..."

 

James blinked. "Oh.. I haven't had the chance to go there because of the rain. Have you?" he asked Quentin. 

"No, I... Never left the house other than groceries before you came," Quentin admitted. "Let's go take a look?"

James nodded and picked Karen up, taking Quentin's hand in his, squeezing. "Let's go then."

"Wow, that's... Spectacular," Quentin breathed, peering in the window. "But Olivia, who takes care of it?"

The greenhouse was connected to the part of the house that hadn't been renovated yet. And Olivia cleared her throat a little, seemingly just slightly embarrassed. "I do, sometimes. But most are strong enough now to sustain themselves." 

 

There were a lot of flowers there. Hydrangeas, as Karen said, full bloom in the midst of summer; and roses, a lot of roses—climbing ones, and shrubs, smelling of that gentle fruity and tea fragrance.

"This is lovely," Quentin leaned in to smell a rose bud. "You do a wonderful job, Olivia. There are plants and herbs here I have never seen on a bush," he pointed to the bird of paradise and lemon grass.

Olivia smiled a little. "Thank you... Master Daniel put a lot of effort into them, so I don't have the heart to let them waste away..." She look around with a soft intake of breath. "This was the family's summer home, and he was here for some rest when he met you." She looked over to where Quentin was. "He planted a lot of roses for you, one he called 'Tea Lover.'"

 

James's eyes flickered over subconsciously to a spot all of a sudden, before he blinked. "It was a salmon-colored rose," he whispered. "That one took so much effort to care for." 

 

Olivia sighed. "It's a shame many of them died out now."

"Are there any left?" Quentin asked sadly. "I'd love to see what they look like. But maybe google will have to do."

"He bred them from two or three types of roses, I think," Olivia said. "Took quite a few tries... And what's google?" 

 

James chuckled. "Like... an electronic encyclopedia that will give you instant answers," he explained to Olivia. "And... I think I wrote something about that... I can try replicating the process, if you'd like?" He smiled at Quentin.

 

"Oh... that would be amazing," Quentin breathed. "I think i remember those, you used to put them in a water glass next to my bed, and on my desk in the study."

James smiled and nodded. "Just a little something to lighten up your day."

"You were always too good to me," Quentin leaned up and kissed his cheek. "You spoiled me rotten," he smiled.

"Uh huh," James hummed. "It's my life goal the moment I found out it's there."

"Stop it," Quentin blushed. "You can be next to me every morning, and let me feed you, and I'll be perfectly happy."

James hummed. "The wonderful life prospect that is," he chuckled. "I'll have to be careful with my shape."

"I'll be sure to give you lots of exercise in bed," Quentin whispered, careful not to let Karen hear. "Everyone ready to go back to the house?"

When everyone agreed, James prowled for Quentin from behind, hugging him into his chest tightly. "Unfair," he murmured into the other man's ear. "You can't just say something like that and walk away."

"I didn't go far," Quentin laughed, breathless. "Are we due for a good round in bed then?"

"Just one?" James teased, pressing a kiss to the crook of Quentin's neck. "Let's just hope no one will walk through our walls, then."

"I'm pretty sure Olivia can keep them busy," Quentin grinned. "Send them to explore the attic or something."

"Well, I'm sure Karen can be easily persuaded... although Ian and Alec will probably suspect something fishy." He grinned back.

"I don't rightly care," Quentin laughed.

James chuckled. "We'll see what we can do then." He pressed a kiss to Quentin's cheek.

"Sounds good, race you," Quentin grinned, bolting for the library.

James laughed, running after Quentin, but he stayed just behind and laughed when they made it to their destination.

Quentin collapsed laughing on the carpet, pulling James down on top of him. "Its nice to have the house full again," he smiled.

 

James hummed. "True, that. Even if it's in the sense that only us two will be comfortable with." He chuckled, kissing Quentin.

"Sod the outside world," Quentin declared. "I could... I could be happy here, James. With Olivia, and Karen, and Ian. If only Angela had already been dealt with."

The smile faded from James's lips. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I say all these things about taking care of you, but I don't really do that, do I?"

"It has nothing to do with you... my life has been difficult, but I made it," Quentin smiled. "Don't blame yourself, James. Yours hasn't been easy either."

"I know... I just want to protect you... at least make you feel more comfortable than before," James murmured softly.

"Then help me. Help all of us defeat Angela once and for all," Quentin said softly. "Let us be a family again. Let's make Skyfall the home we always dreamed it could be."

James straightened up at that. "Am I not helping you?" he asked quietly. 

 

"You are, of course,' quentin said. But of all the things you can do, that's what I need from you the most."

 

"To kill Angela off once and for all?" James's voice was a little tight.

 

"Maybe Ian had the right idea, fighting evil with evil doesn't work," Quentin said. "I don't know," he held on to James tighter.

 

"I will kill her if that's what you want," James said. "Killing doesn't bother me. Especially with a cause."

"I think we've tried that, and it hasn't worked. "What else can we do?"

"We tried to burn her down. And we don't know what really had happened between the time she held me captive and when the house caught fire," James reminded again. "I'll kill her this time, and I will burn her right there and watch until there's nothing left."

"As long as it works," Quentin shivered. "I would hate to see what happened if she came back again after that."

"Okay." James moved to stand. "I'll set up a plan with Alec then."

"James, be careful, please?" Quentin pleaded, eyes wide.

"I will." James nodded. "Of all the things I have done... Killing is the best I'm good at, after all," he whispered before sighing and standing up. "When I leave, stay here and don't go out or open the door no matter what. I will knock five times with one second interval between each knock when I come back. Alec will do the same."

Quentin nodded, and pulled him in wordlessly for another kiss.

James kissed back briefly before pulling away. He stood up now, fully, and headed for the door. "Alec!" he called. "We've got some planning to do."

"I'm going to spend some time with Ian and Karen and Olivia," Quentin told James. "I want to get to know Karen, and Ian... I can't believe my eyes, really."

 

James nodded. "You should." He looked at Quentin and gave him a nod before heading out to talk to Alec.

Quentin headed down to find the others. "Karen, would you tell me about the other books you and Charlie made?"

Karen nodded eagerly. "What do you want to know, Quentin?" She smiled. 

 

"Well, let me show you these names," Quentin picked up the grimoire. "Are these flowers or plants, or something else?" He pointed at a list of spell ingredients.

Karen placed a small finger to run along the list of ingredients, thinking for a moment before she began, "This is a plant. This is a flower. This is only a root..."

"Ok, so Damiana, a plant, used for luck in love," Quentin made a note. "Meadowsweet flower, is used for home protections. Black cohosh root protects from evil entering the home. Do we have all these growing?"

"I think so," Karen frowned in thought. "I'm not sure about the root."

"Black cohosh is also good for cramps and anxiety," Quentin read down the list. "I think I might have seen some in a jar in the kitchen."

Karen nodded, her eyes trailing to the door. "Charlie didn't look happy when he left," she said quietly.

"He wants to find a way to keep you with us, and keep that woman from hurting us again," Quentin gave her a hug. "Charlie was a soldier, Karen. This time too. And sometimes that means doing the jobs that other people can't."

"Like killing other people?" Karen whispered quietly.

"If he needs to," Quentin swallowed. "I hate the idea of it. But I hate the idea of losing you all more."

Karen shivered. "Does killing people make him bad?"

"No... Sometimes it's the only option to stop someone evil from killing innocent people. Like when Charlie went to fight in the war," Quentin stared at the serious face, so like James's own.

Karen gazed up at him, frowning just a little, confused. "So... all the people Charlie have fought in that war... they were all bad, right?"

"Yes, they were all bad," Quentin nodded. "Sometimes innocent people get killed, but Charlie was fighting the bad ones."

 

"Okay," Karen nodded slowly, leaning into Quentin. "He hates it, though... I can see it in his eyes."

"He does..." Quentin agreed. "And I hate asking him. But I'd hate losing him more."

"He'll be all right, right?" she asked him.

"We're going to try to make sure he is," Quentin nodded. "That's why I wanted you to help me with these plants."

  
Karen nodded. "What more do you need help with?"

"Let's find some of each of these, and then I'll show you," Quentin pointed to the grimoire. "We're going to burn them in the cauldron."

Karen stood up quickly, eager to help. "Let's go then." She smiled.

"Good, we'll let Charlie and Alec fight, and we'll help from here," Quentin smiled back. "Greenhouse or woods?"

 

"Greenhouse first, just to be sure." Karen smiled, taking Quentin's hand.

"Do you need a coat?" Quentin asked. "Its getting a little chilly. Or I can lend you a sweater."

Karen shook her head. "I don't get cold," she told him quietly.

"Just making sure," Quentin touched her hair. "It's alright. None of us here are quite... Normal. I can't always walk."

 

"Does it hurt?" Karen asked softly. "At least I don't feel pain... or cold anymore... That used to worry Charlie a lot."

"Sometimes," Quentin said. "It feels better now that Charlie is here. He is very good at taking care of us," he smiled. "I was sick a lot when I was young too..."

 

Karen nodded. "He tries hard to make me happy, even when I was sick." She sighed. "I love him a lot."

"I bet," Quentin smiled. "I wish I had someone like Charlie when I was your age. I just had my drawings. I'd draw superheroes who were strong and could do things I wanted to do."

"I'm sorry you didn't have someone like Charlie before, but you have us now." She beamed.

"Yes, and I intend to keep you both," Quentin smiled.

Karen smiled, eyes crinkling. "Thank you... The house doesn't feel lonely now that you're here and Charlie is back... He finally sees me now."

"He didn't see you, the other times?" Quentin asked.

"There was only one other time that someone who feels like him was here... but he never remembered me, so I stayed mostly away... Then one day, he never came back again..." Karen replied quietly.

"Do you remember what his name was? Or mine?" Quentin asked her. It was I not there?" Karen slipped right through the greenhouse door, but Quentin had to open it to go in. 

"I... You only came here once during that time. You were looking for him... for George... Like he disappeared or something." She frowned. "The people in this house back then told you he must have left to look for another job somewhere again, I think."

"We just missed each other... Too many times," Quentin sighed. "Ok, so these small white ones are the meadowsweet flowers, right?

"I can't tell what year it was though... I lose track of time easily..." Karen pouted a little before directing her eyes to where Quentin was pointing. "Yes. Next to it is the Basket plant."

"That's ok, time gets away from us here," Quentin smiled. "Let me find a clippers."

Karen just promptly levitated the clippers over, old and a little rusty, but usable. "I can lift light things," Karen smiled a little lopsidedly.

"Wow..." Quentin's eyes opened wide. "What else can you do?"

"Walk through walls like I just did?" Karen said shyly.

"That's... bloody impressive, actually," Quentin giggled. "Excuse my language. I wonder if it works if I hold your hand?"

Karen flushed and giggled, too. "Unless you're like me, I don't think it'll work."

"I wonder..." Quentin said thoughtfully. "Would you mind if we try? It could be really useful."

 

Karen stood up, and extended her hand to take his own.

Quentin closed his eyes and stepped towards the glass door of the greenhouse, waiting to feel the cold glass against his nose.

Slowly, Karen let herself slip through the glass panel, the act coming easily as if walking itself, turning around to see if Quentin had actually followed her or not.

 

Quentin had tears running down his cheeks, and his nose was rather red where it had run straight into the frosty glass. He opened the door, rubbing his aching nose. "That's a no, then," he laughed.

"Oh, Quentin! Are you quite all right?" Karen gasped, covering her mouth, although it was a little difficult to tell whether she was doing that to cover the worries on her face, or to stop the giggles from coming forth in the back of her throat.

"Just my pride hurt, and my nose," Quentin giggled. "Oy, I'm glad James wasn't here to see that... he'd be making fun of me as well."

"I'm not making fun of you," Karen said, voice strained from trying not to laugh.

"I didn't say you were," Quentin protested. "I think I'll stick to alchemy after this. I'm definitely not good at walking through things," he stared at himself in the glass, where his eyes were already starting to bruise. "Just my luck, losing an argument with a door."

"The door is very firm in opinions," Karen said, a cheeky smile on her lips.

"It is... I think I'll stick to using the doorway," Quentin returned to clipping the meadowsweet flowers.

Karen followed him back in and just wandered about the greenhouse while Quentin worked.

"Alright, I have everything but the black cohosh root," Quentin said, after stuffing his cardigan pockets with Damiana clippings. "Woods?"

"Woods." Karen nodded. "I think we found them over there..." She told him, leading them out of the greenhouse and into the thick trees of the forest.

"It's beautiful out here, I'm sorry I haven't come out more often," Quentin admitted. "There they are," he pointed to a plant with tall stalks of small, white blossoms.

 

"The weather has been horrid," Karen said, swatting down to gently poke at the flowers. "Pretty..."

  
"They're very useful as medicine too, everything from the leaves to roots can be made into a tea or tincture," Quentin said as he dug up a part of the plant. "We'll bring the whole thing back to the house, and we can dry the other parts to use later."


	20. Chapter 20

Karen nodded, big eyes round with awe as she absorbed the information. "What else do you need to find?"

"That was it," Quentin smiled. "We'll wash these, and burn them on coals while James and Alec go after Angela."

Karen nodded with a smile, too, and took Quentin's hand as they headed back inside.

Quentin stopped off at the kitchen sink to wash off the herbs and collect the cauldron. "Let's go back to the library and I'll show you the spell."

It was then that they hear Ian's voice filtering through. "You can't be serious." 

 

"I am," was James's grumble. 

 

"A good bet as any if we have absolutely no information on her except for the fact that she's a witch." 

 

"But I thought father said..." 

 

"He rethought the decision."

Quentin sighed. "Meet me in the library, let me see what they're arguing about. James, Ian, what's going on?"

Alec was there, too, and they turned to look at Quentin, an assortment of weapons laid out on the table in front of them, a gun in James's hand just as he was cocking it.

 

"He said they were going to go and kill Angela," Ian began. "Even though you said we would try something else. Such as purifying the darkness of her soul."

 

"And I said, you rethought that decision," James muttered.

"Can't we do both?" Quentin rubbed his forehead. "Kill her, cleanse her soul for next round? I don't know the right answer."

 

"Or I can just help out by killing her." James shrugged, picking up another gun to clean. 

 

"Why do you two have so many weapons? And so used to using them too..." Ian muttered with a shiver.

 

"Because I used to kill people for a living," James replied in a mock cheerful tone.

 

"James, gods," Quentin muttered. "You really aren't winning him over this way. Alec... Help."

 

Alec helped by kicking James in the shin.

 

"What?" James hissed. 

 

And Alec shot him a pointed look. "Stop being an arse." 

 

"I have always been an arse," James muttered even as he turned back to quietly clean his gun now, or one of Alec's guns that he was holding. 

 

"There's... No guarantee it will work," Quentin told Ian. "And we need a backup plan, before she comes after you three as revenge."

 

"So you are using your backup plan before trying anything else?" Ian asked slowly. 

 

"We're combining both plans," Quentin told him.

 

"By having him kill her first?" Ian raised an eyebrow before flinching a little at the sound of James cocking another gun once the clip slid inside. 

 

"Look Ian, what do we do if the spell fails, and she kills us all again?"

 

"How do you cleanse her soul after she dies?" 

 

"Sulfur and a stake?" Alec suggested.

 

"She isn't a vampire, Alec," Quentin scolded.

 

"Silver bullets?" James perked up, ripping an exasperated sigh from Ian. 

 

"Not a werewolf," Ian muttered. 

 

"Metal... Iron, technically, is what kills a witch," Quentin said. "Or technology, if you can get it to work around them."

 

"Or powerful sedation," James muttered. "We're going to sedate her, and burn her." 

 

"What sedates a witch?" Alec asked.

 

"What doesn't?" James raised an eyebrow. "How different is a witch from a normal human being other than the fact that she can use magic?"

 

"I think he has a point, Alec," Quentin pointed out.

 

Alec paused, considering the idea a little. 

 

"Even if there are changes, how could she make her own body used to sedatives? Even our training hasn't managed to do that," James said slowly. 

 

"There is a way, witch or not," Quentin said thoughtfully. "A little at a time until a body builds up resistance."

 

"Which is why I suggest a powerful dose. Since I don't suppose we should be worry about whether or not there's a chance she won't wake up from it, though I hardly doubt she won't."

 

"But what do we use?" Quentin asked. 

 

"How about horse tranquilizer?" Alec piqued up, and James laughed. 

 

"I swear, if you have that, I'm using it." 

 

"That's actually a decent idea," Quentin said. "A tranquilizer dart gun?"

 

Alec nodded. "One that I can shoot from a fair bit of distance if we don't want to run the risk of getting too close without knowing what she can do. And you're holding the binocular this time, James." 

 

James arched an eyebrow. "Why?" he asked in a far too innocent tone. 

 

"Because your aim is shite."

 

"Oh dear..." Quentin rolled his eyes. "I'll leave you experts to it then. Ian, do you want to help us with the protection spells?"

 

Ian looked at them all a little hesitantly before nodding. 

 

"Shite aiming or not, I'm killing her," James muttered. 

 

"James," Quentin scolded, shaking his head. "You just can't drop it, can you?"

 

"Well," James began, finally looking up fully at Quentin now, "of all the things you want from me, the most useful and helpful thing is this, isn't it? You said so yourself. Then why are you against me saying that aloud?" 

 

Alec looked over to where James was before sighing, not saying a word. 

 

"I'm trying to find a way that Ian doesn't feel guilty over this James," Quentin said softly. "I know she has to die. That doesn't mean we have to walk around like we are pleased about it, and discuss it at all turns."

 

"I'm not walking around, pleased, and talking about it at all turns," James stated. "But we are in a roomful of weapons and discussing strategies, and if he doesn't like that, he can move on to another room for now." 

 

"Death bothers some of us, that's not a bad thing!" Quentin yelled. "I don't like it either, but I know it's a necessary evil. It doesn't directly involve him, so it doesn't feel as urgent."

 

Something shuttered in James's eyes, barely fazed by Quentin's yell. "Yes, because death doesn't bother me, does it?! Because the only thing I seem to actually be helpful at is  _ killing _ people! I get that! I have never really done much of anything else helpful, so I get that, okay?" 

 

"James!" Quentin covered his mouth with his hand. "Excuse us, Alec, please. James, outside, now."

 

James set the gun down with a loud  _ click _ on the table. "We'll talk about that tranquilizer idea later," he told Alec in a monotone before slipping out, closing the door behind him before turning to look at Quentin with a raised eyebrow. "Yes?" 

 

"James, you aren't... you aren't just a killer, and that isn't all you're good out," Quentin managed. "What did I say that made you think I believed that?"

 

"I know that I'm a good killer," Jame said evenly, his mouth a strained, straight line. "That's been the case for the longest of time already, lifetimes over, possibly. So I know that fact very well, Quentin. I don't expect others to think differently about me." 

 

"And that has nothing to do with how I see you," Quentin argued. "I see you as my lover, my protector. I can understand Ian's point though, James. You weren't a soldier the first time I fell in love with you, and none of that was included when he heard me talking about you after I adopted him. His view of you for centuries has been this man who saved me from my family, and then he finds you planning a murder. He's bothered by it, and that's alright. But I'm more upset that it's how you define yourself."

 

"It's not about what Ian thinks of me. I know what he thinks about this. Frankly, I am well past that point of caring about what other people think of me," James said. Or so he told himself. And no, he wasn't thinking about that conversation he and Quentin had had just before this back in the library. Because, yes, it shouldn't bother him. "I've been a professional killer for more than a decade already. That is how I define myself. I know what I'm helpful at." 

 

"Why?" Quentin asked. "You said you were in the Navy. You said you worked for the government. When did you go from that, to being a professional killer? What does that even mean, James?"

 

"I was in the Black Ops, Quentin. I told you that already. People don't get recruited into the Black Ops just because they know how to stay alive well." 

 

"I see," Quentin shivered. "That didn't... really register, earlier. Alright," he gave his hair a nervous tug. "I guess I'm not used to... all the memories, I didn't think of you like that."

 

James blinked slowly and said nothing. "Get some rest," he muttered finally. 

 

"I don't want you to go away angry, and those be the last words we say," Quentin said softly. "I need you, James. I love you."

 

"I'm not angry," James said simply, looking at Quentin. "Am I not doing something helpful? It's the best thing I can do, Quentin, I am fully aware of that. I have never done anything anything else half decent with my life anyway."  

 

"It's helpful, it's very helpful," Quentin said softly. "But the most important thing you do is love me."

 

James swallowed, something just a little tight in his throat. "I'm just a killer, Quentin," he whispered. "I thought there were other helpful things I could do... but in the end, it seems like it all spin back to this. To killing." He shrugged, looking at the floor, or, more precisely, his hands. Sometimes, he could still feel them sticky... with phantom blood. "I'm not surprised." He inhaled and straightened up, shrugging. "I'm going back to continue with the preparation." 

 

"James..." Quentin stopped him. "Hold me?"

 

James sighed, looking at Quentin and knowing that he didn't have the heart to refuse... and so pulled the younger man closer to him, holding him silently. 

 

"I love you, James," Quentin breathed him in, the gun oil, leather jacket, and the kitchen spices. "Be safe. Come back to me."

 

"I love you," James replied, not promising something else. 

 

Quentin just nodded, clenching his jaw to keep the tears from falling. It flashed through his mind, all the other goodbyes, and he turned away from James into the darkness to hide his wet eyes.

 

Not fast enough. James sighed and held Quentin from behind. "Don't cry," he murmured. "As long as it keeps you safe." He took in a breath. "Maybe you should forget about me after this lifetime... This is all my life is ever going to be... It's best if you don't involve yourself with me anymore." 

 

"How... Do you think I do it on purpose?" Quentin asked sadly. "I wouldn't choose to forget you if I could. But you came to me."

 

James hummed. "I'll tell myself to live alone next time, then... if there is a next time. Forget about me and move on." 

 

"Why?" Quentin asked, pulling his jacket closer around him with a shiver. "Why would you do that?"

 

To me... To us.

 

"So I won't hurt anyone else, least of all, you," James whispered. "So you can find someone else... better, less involved in violence... more helpful, and can make you happier than this." 

 

"No... No, I won't let you," Quentin shook his head. "All this time, all these lives. I need you. You were made for me, Jamie."

 

***

_ "I could catch a cold anywhere Jamie," Elliot argued. "I'll be alright in a few days. Working didn't make me sick, I'm happy to do what I can." _

 

_ "No," Jamie protested, pulling the tattered blanket over Elliott, throat tight. "The wind was too strong yesterday... I told you to head back. Why didn't you listen?"  _

 

_ "Because you were still working, and I wanted to be with you," Elliot waved off the fretting. "I'm not some fainting girl, Jamie. I can help you with building the barn." _

 

_ Jamie shook his head. "You are resting from now on." He reached up, feeling Elliott's head and frowned worriedly. "Stay warm." He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Elliott, too, to join with the rest of the blankets.  _

 

_ "Come lay down with me?" Elliot asked. "I don't want you out there without a coat either. Come tell me about how it's going to look when we're done." _

 

_ Jamie's eyes flickered over to where his poor attempt at a vegetable stew was simmering over the fire, and sighed, getting up and settling down onto the hay stuffed mattress. Nothing compared to how soft Elliott's bed had once been before. "Fine. Just until the stew is done," he said, even though he was starting to doubt if he should feed Elliott that... concoction, fearful that maybe it'd make him more ill.  _

 

_ He took Elliot's hand and laced their fingers together, nosing at his neck as Jamie pulled his lover closer back into his chest, keeping those cold feet between his own to warm them up. "Well, it's going to look at a barn when we're done," he began in a dry, teasing tone. _

 

_ "Do you think we can get a horse?" Elliot asked. "I'd really love to ride again,' he snuggled back against Jamie. "Stop fretting, I'll be fine in no time. I get sick every year when the weather changes, nothing to worry about." _

 

_ "We'll get one if that's what you want," Jamie whispered in replied, already calculating to see how much he needed to save to get a decent and well-trained horse of Elliott, amongst their other expenses. "Ye, you get sick every year, but you're not getting the best treatment here, are you?" he sighed, tightening his hold around Elliott. _

  
  


_ "There isn't anything I can do but blow my nose and wait it out," Elliot said patiently. "What do you want, a miracle? It's only been one day so far." _

 

_ Jamie shook his head. "I want you not to be sick. I want you to stay home and just work around the house instead of being out there," he said quietly. "I want you to have a better living condition."  _

 

_ "Jamie, stop this, honestly," Elliot snorted, exasperated. "I love you, and I'm with you. We have a roof, and a house. I'm happy. That's all I need. One case of sniffles isn't going to end the world. Now stop treating me like a bloody blushing maid." _

 

_ Jamie was quiet for a long time before he whispered, "I remember a little girl from my old town... she died after a case of sniffles weakened her body enough for her to catch something else more lethal." _

 

_ "Jamie, I'm really alright," Elliot pulled him closer. "I don't even have a fever, love. But if you're so worried, spend the day here with me. I'll even let you feed me," he teased gently, stealing a kiss. _

 

_ Jamie managed a smile, taking in Elliott's features while biting back a sigh. "You'll have to suffer my cooking then."  _

 

_ "Its adorable that you cooked for me, just make sure the whole jar of pepper doesn't end up in the soup this time," Elliot smiled at him. "I'll make bread in the morning. The rain won't be gone before tomorrow evening anyway, it's not like you can work outside in it." _

 

_ "I have worked in worse conditions," Jamie said softly. "You don't have to make bread... and I don't use that much pepper anyway." But of course, they both knew the truth there. Jamie wanted Elliott to sweat this cold out anyway.  _

 

_ "Stuff and nonsense, you'll do nothing of the sort," Elliot smiled. "What else about the barn, what kind of animals will we have?" _

 

_ "We'll build good, secure windows to keep the air well circulated," Jamie continued softly, indulging Elliott. "We'll have a horse for you. Hens with eggs for you to make bread, and maybe a cow when we have more money... so we can churn butter and cheese. And did you know geese can help us keep the barn safe pretty well? They're ferocious with strangers."  _

 

_ "They're ferocious with anyone in possession of an arse," Elliot said ruefully, rubbing his bum in memory. "I got bit last summer when we were at the swimming hole. Can't we get a dog for protection instead?" _

 

_ Jamie laughed. "That goose was just going for the best piece of arse around, then... Can't blame it, although I'd strangle it next time." He smiled patting Elliott's bum. "A dog then. What else?" he hummed softly.  _

 

_ "A cat, maybe?" Elliot asked wistfully. "I wanted one, but they made mum sneeze." _

 

_ Jamie nodded. "A dog and a cat then." He smiled, brushing a hand over Elliot's forehead, brushing stray locks of hair away while check for his temperature at the same time.  _

 

_ "Do I feel hot?" Elliot challenged. "Oh... if we can get a few sheep, I can spin a bit. Not enough for nice clothes, but enough for cloaks and blankets." _

 

_ "No." Hopefully it would stay as such, and Jamie nodded. "I was thinking so, too... but we need to save money for them first. Or decide whether we need them or the cow first." _

 

_ "Which can we make a profit with easier is the question?" Elliot said. "From a practical standpoint anyway. Honestly, I've always been around sheep and goats. I have no clue what to do with a bloody cow, they're enormous." _

 

_ James blinked, considering it. "Well, how about sheep and goats first, then we can make cheese from goat milk?" _

 

_ "Sounds good, I like goat milk better anyway," Elliot smiled. "It'll be a good life Jamie. We'll make it just fine." _

_ *** _

"Come back so you can take me to Skyfall," Quentin straightened his shoulders and turned back to James. "I'm holding you to all your promises."

 

"I don't intend on retracting my promises intentionally," James said. "But what I'm saying is that I'm sure you can find someone better than me in the future, and that's what you should do."

 

"What I'm saying, is that i don't want anyone else, you hard head," Quentin managed a smile. "I didn't find you, again and again, for centuries, just to choose someone else."

 

"Why would you choose me over and over?" James murmured. "The only desirable trait about me is possibly my physical body." 

 

"The  _ most  _ desirable trait about you is your heart, and how you love me. You'll even push me away if you think it's best for me," Quentin said softly. "Face it James, you're stuck with me."

 

"Because it is for the best," James murmured, looking absently past Quentin's shoulder. 

 

"What?" Quentin turned to see what James was looking at.

 

"Nothing," James pulled away. "Get some rest." 

 

Quentin nodded sadly, and headed inside, trying not to make eye contact with Alec. He didn't want the man to see how upset he was, especially after he'd gone through all the trouble of coming to help.

 

Alec saw it though, and sighed. "Quentin... Do you want to talk?" he asked softly, not wanting to be intrusive.

 

"I..." Quentin shrugged helplessly. "I don't know this side of him, Alec. I don't know how to get him to let me in. We have memories, but... we're really new, this time around. I'm scared. And he's so... cold."

 

Alec sighed, standing up to come closer to Quentin. "He pretends that he's a cold and heartless bastard very, very well, let me tell you that first." 

 

"He has me convinced," Quentin muttered. "I... I'm so in love with him it hurts, Alec. What do I do?"

 

"He's just so convinced of his own values that he's like that," Alec said softly. "Too stubborn for his own good... But if you truly love him, don't stop. He loves you a lot, more than I have ever had the chance to see from him. He's just... trying too hard to protect you from this... and from him as well." 

 

"But... I don't need him to protect me. I need him to stand  _ with _ me," Quentin said. "Rubbish... I feel like I've had this discussion over and over, in every lifetime. And I never find an answer that keeps him with me."

 

"He's a fighter, Quentin. He's been fighting his whole life, and when he decided to do something else, something comes back up and draws him back into that cycle."

 

"How do I convince him to fight... for us?" Quentin asked. "I've never... I'm a terrible dater, Alec. I was always the designated driver who went home alone back in London. What are the rules for this?"

 

"There is no rule for this," Alec said softly, a hand up to squeeze Quentin's shoulder. "But isn't he fighting for you two while doing this?"

 

"Yes, but he said in my next life, he'll make sure he doesn't find me, so I'm safer," Quentin said.

 

"So he's being a daft arse again," Alec muttered under his breath. "Is what he said even possible, even..." The man shook his head. "I'll talk to him about it." 

 

"I don't know, he found me this time around without meaning to," Quentin shook his head. "I... I can't."

 

"Maybe that's just it," Alec said quietly. "It seems like you two gravitate toward one another without even being aware of it." 

 

"Yes, but if he tries not to find me... I'm scared it will work," Quentin whispered.

 

"How can he remember it later on though?" Alec sighed, rubbing his face. 

 

"I don't know, Alec," Quentin sighed. "I don't know the rules to this."

 

"At any rate... don't be put out by his obstinate stubbornness," Alec drew in a breath. "I'll talk to him." 

 

"I'm sorry, Alec, this isn't your problem," Quentin dropped into a chair while he boiled water for tea. "I'm just... exhausted."

 

"It's not my problem, but I want you two to be happy, too, Quentin." Alec patted the younger man's shoulder gently.

  
"What about you?" Quentin asked quietly. "Was there ever anyone in your life, or were you a wandering soldier as well?"


	21. Chapter 21

Alec shrugged. "Mostly wandering. I'm not much different James in that aspect."

 

"As a soldier as well?" Quentin asked. "Or feel free to tell me to fuck off, if that's none of my business. It's just, you look, familiar..." 

 

Alec waved him off with a small smile, indicating that he didn't mind. "Just a soldier, as far as I can remember..." He frowned a little though. "Familiar, though?"

 

"Yes... something about you and Olivia," Quentin shook his head. "It will either be in the journals, or it will come to me. I'd better go find Ian and Karen," he said with a sigh, rubbing at his aching back as he stood.

Alec frowned. "Olivia?" He thought about it for a long moment before shaking his head, an odd sensation in the back of his mind. "Try to take it easy yourself," Alec said softly as he saw the motion of Quentin's hand. "I'll talk to James."

 

Quentin nodded and slipped away to the library, trying to keep a positive face so Karen and Ian wouldn't worry about him. He fingered the ever present aspirin in his pocket and swallowed a few, the disagreement with James making his headache.

Ian and Karen busied themselves with the books and a bit of soft chatting in the background, letting Quentin have his quiet moment, before Ian came closer, while Karen was pouring her attention into a history book, and quietly said, "I honestly still don't see what you see in him."

 

"He... It's hard at the moment to remember when I'm angry," Quentin admitted. "But without him, I feel empty, and hopeless. He's the other half of my heart, Ian. We're opposites, but we complement each other."

"How's being a brute complimentary to you?" Ian raised an eyebrow. "He just gets here. Aside from what is from other  _ lifetimes _ , you barely know him. What has he done for you anyway? Really. Aside sweet-talking you and giving you a ride in his... his car?"

"I know I spent a long time looking for him," Quentin said gently. "And yes, he was a soldier, and a spy. I have a lot to learn about him this lifetime, and he does as well. But we're both scared. Lives are at stake."

"So what if you spent a long time looking for him? You only realized that you were supposedly missing him just recently anyway... Barely three days ago." Ian shot Quentin a long look. "His being a soldier, a spy, justifies nothing." 

 

"I'm... Not me without him, Ian," Quentin said gently. "He's not perfect, and neither am I. But we belong together."

"He hurts you, that's what it is. What if you only feel like you belong with him because you have been alone for so long? I don't believe there is no one else who's better for you than him out there."

"I looked a long time, my whole life before I came here, and there was nothing but lonely nights and one night stands," Quentin shook his head. "You may not understand. But he and I... Of course we'll disagree, and fight. But at the end, it's us together."

"What don't I understand?" Ian asked quietly. "That sometimes, the person you think is most suited to you can stab you in the back?"

"Who hurt you? Quentin asked suddenly. "You have to let someone in close enough to hurt you to be in love."

Something shuttered in Ian's expression as he said, "No one did."

"Ian... I've carried that look most of my lives," Quentin said sadly. "But I won't push if you don't want to say."

Ian's jaw flexed just a bit, considering, before his shoulders slumped down just a little, probably in resignation. It had been too long already.

 

"He was the one who let others come in and destroy my printing machine..." He ground out quietly.

"Oh Ian, I'm so sorry," Quentin hugged the young man. "That's horrible. I don't think James is like that, at least I hope not. He's being prickly because he hates seeing me hurt, and... He'd rather be out of my life than cause it."

Having a human hugging a ghost was odd, but Ian sighed and relaxed into it. "It doesn't mean he can't possibly bring you harm," he muttered quietly. 

"No, he could probably harm me worse than many others, because of how precious he is to me," Quentin agreed. "But... I need to see it through. Will you tell me about... him?"

 

"Him?" Ian inquired with a raise of his eyebrow, even if he was far from over with the discussion they were having about Bond and Quentin's involvement with him. "Bond or....?"

 

"The printing press fellow," Quentin said.

Ian was quiet for a moment, contemplating, before he softly said, "I met him in London... He was around the neighborhood, working odd jobs to raise his siblings... I saw him with them a few times before we were"— Ian managed a bitter smile, "say, formally introduced. It was in an alleyway, and he was getting beaten up badly by some thugs because he couldn't pay the money he owed yet... and I helped him." Ian shrugged. "The rest is rather obvious. I let him help with the printing press business, and one night..." The young man drew in a soft breath, "he sneaked away and opened the door to the opposing company to my business."

"That's awful," Quentin said. "Why? Because he liked you and was afraid?   Not exactly the way to repay affection."

Ian shrugged before sighing. "They were using his siblings, I think..." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Oh... Well... Not to excuse him, but I can understand trying to protect family," he said softly. "I'd go to long lengths to protect you."

"I know," Ian sighed. "That's probably why I don't really blame him for stabbing me in the back." He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "I don't really remember much of what immediately happened after I died."

"I'm sorry," Quentin whispered. "Not the best situation. but I think it will help once we get this figured out."

Ian shook his head. "Nothing for you to be sorry about..." He shook his head. "I still don't  think you should be with him."

"I know," Quentin shook his head. "But I'm not here to judge who you're with, Ian. At least respect that."

"It's not that I don't respect you, or your choices, but the person whom I don't respect is him."

"I know," Quentin nodded. "I hope you're wrong, yeah?"

To be perfectly honest, Ian hoped he was  _ not _ wrong. But he shrugged anyway and sighed.

"I know, you don't get along," Quentin smiled. "But I wouldn't mind meeting someone you liked, Ian. If there is someone."

"Someone I liked?" Ian raised an eyebrow before shrugging.

"Well... I don't know how it works, if you've met other people who are reincarnated, or whatever," Quentin shook his head. "Sorry, that's rude of me."

"It's not... rude," Ian murmured, hand playing with the edge of the book he was holding. "But who else am I going to meet when I'm like...  _ this _ ? I don't... I don't wish to scare people, nor do I wish to, on the off chance that anything does happen, paint them with the fact that, here I am, long dead, while they're still alive."

"I just... hoped," Quentin said softly. "You have such a big heart, Ian. I'd love to see you with someone."

"I rather think my heart is tiny, because it can contain only so many people." Ian smiled a little.

"I understand being gun shy, because you've been hurt," Quentin said softly. "I understand it more than you know, Ian. Have you ever thought of seeking him out? It seems like there's a lot of unfinished words between the two of you."

Ian shook his head. "I don't feel like it's a wise thing. And in the end, I do not suppose his spirit lingers. Why would it linger anyway?" He shrugged.

"Because he might have been forced into those actions?" Quentin asked. "It was a bad time to be in love with a man."

"I can tell he probably had been forced into it, but really, father," the title slipped out unconscious and unbidden, "why would he linger over it? It would be better to pass on anyway, not to mention the fact that he had to take care of his brothers and sister. He would have left me behind soon."

"You'd be surprised. Love and longing can stretch across lifetimes quite easily," Quentin said. "It wouldn't hurt to find out."

"Love and longing," Ian quirked up a mirthless smile. "Does it really matter now? He may as well have moved on, and even if he hasn't, I don't know where to find him. And why would I anyway? There's no point..." He shook his head, taking in a breath.

"I'm a hopeless romantic, I suppose," Quentin smiled. "I'd just like to think there's a happy ending for all of us."

"Well... Sometimes suffering is just that, suffering. Not all of us can have a good ending... Quentin." Ian smiled softly.

"I know, but you... You're a good man, Ian. You deserve one," Quentin said softly.

It was a quiet second before Ian said, "Thank you, I suppose." He nodded a little. "You know that you deserve a good ending, too."

"I've had a few good endings, and many good years, Ian," Quentin fingered the sketchbook with teary eyes.

"I don't think any of us have," Ian sighed, reaching for Quentin's shoulder and squeezing it. "But like you said, if I deserve one, then you deserve a happy ending as well."

"Well, let's see if we can't find your young man, when this is all over?" Quentin offered. "Some closure at least might settle your mind."

In all honesty, Ian didn't know if he wanted to find that man or not, but he supposed Quentin was right about one thing: he did need the closure... just something to stop him from thinking about that from time to time whenever the weather soured, which tended to happen an awful lot around here. 

 

"All right," he nodded, sighing. "What about you?"

"We're going to work through the spell while James and Alec... Go after Angela," Quentin sighed. "And hope tomorrow sees us all still here."

"I hope so, too," Ian murmured. "What happens if... things don't do as planned?"

"We run?" Quentin winced. "Fuck if I know, honestly. Nothing has worked before."

"Shh," Ian spoke softly, his eyes trailing over to where Karen still was. She didn't seem to have picked up that, and he sighed, turning back to Quentin now. "Let's believe that we're doing everything we can to make sure it works," he muttered, because even if he didn't like Bond, he didn't like seeing Quentin sad or in agony either.

"Karen, will you help me grind the flowers?" Quentin asked. "The innocence, the belief, maybe it will help, Ian."

Karen perked up, blinking, and nodded. "Sure." She smiled. 

 

"I don't doubt it," Ian said. "And I don't doubt the power of your feelings either."

"Well, an extra hand can't hurt," Quentin sighed. "We all want a happy ending, for different reasons. And if we add that together, I think it's more powerful than the ingredients of the spell. We've had the ingredients, we need the intent."

"I know that, Quentin." Ian sighed. "I'm only saying that to show my conviction in you." And with that, he stood up.

"I want us all together, we should get at least one happy ending where we all die of old age together," Quentin wiped his eyes. "Karen, can you mash up the petals in the mortar and pestle, love?"

"We're not really living anymore, Quentin," Ian said softly, reaching and squeezing Quentin's upper arm. "What happens to us isn't urgent as what happens to you."

 

Karen peered at them worriedly. "Are you okay, Quentin?" she asked.

"Yes... yes it is! Ian, that's it!" Quentin hugged Karen. "Yes, Karen. I figured it out."

Ian blinked, brows furrowing a little. "Pardon me, but... what?" 

 

"The ingredients... hurry!" Quentin spun Ian around. "That's how it works. You're still here... she didn't win, not really. Pieces of our love, our souls, went into taking care of the two of you. Even if we lost at the time, we're all together to fight now."

Wide-eyed, Ian stared at Quentin before nodding and hurrying away to get the ingredients. Karen was happily mashing up the roots, beaming at Quentin.

Quentin shredded the meadowsweet leaves as fast as he could, hands shaking. 

 

"The cauldron, Ian. We're going to follow them into town."

Ian got the cauldron. "We're not going to haul the cauldron along, right?" he asked slowly.

"Oh, we are," Quentin grinned. "Let's get a good fire going so we can bring embers with us."

"Oh God," Ian muttered. "It's never good when you have that mischievous look in your eyes." He shook his head in fond exasperation.

"D'you know how to cast a circle?" Quentin asked, grabbing the grimoire. 

"Uh... I think?" Ian replied, a little flustered because Quentin didn't seem like he was joking about this at all. "You do realise if I were to levitate the cauldron all the way to town, people would immediately notice that something was actually floating in midair when it shouldn't be, right?"

"Oh, that's exactly why I want you to levitate it!" Quen spun around with a laugh, hair flying in all directions. "I intend for this to be as much about putting on a show as it is counteracting a curse."

Ian blinked, confused. Karen's excited clapping wasn't helping. "Putting on a show? Why? Shouldn't we be discreet so they can, I don't know, take care of Angela?"

"No, we're both the distraction, and the catalyst," Quentin said. "A bunch of people dancing around a levitated cauldron will mask what James and Alec are doing, draw attention away from them. Plus, we'll be closer."

"People dancing around a levitating cauldron..." Ian murmured before sighing. "All right. Are we even sure they're doing it tonight?"

"No, we have to time it right," Quentin sat down suddenly. "I have... I have to talk to James... about when."

Ian paused at that before heaving a sigh. "I can talk to him if you like?" he offered quietly.

"No, I'll go," Quentin sighed. "In a bit. After I find the tequila."

Ian nodded. "Second cabinet in the kitchen to the right," he said quietly.

"After this is over... I'll remember that," Quentin said. "I need to be sober to spell cast."

Well... you know I won't be going anywhere anytime soon... so, I'll be here, if you need me." Ian offered him a smile.

"Thanks, Ian," Quentin clapped his shoulder. "I'm proud of you, the man you've become."

Ian quirked a small smile. "Thanks, Quentin," he murmured. "I'm glad you feel so."

"I'm glad I got to see it," Quentin murmured. "The other boys, they all passed? They don't wander?"

Ian nodded. "Not everyone was too happy or content, but they all moved on." He smiled softly. "And I'm glad for that."

"Just us like the old days," Quentin smiled. "And I still have a bad knee, for fuck's sake."

"Hence why should be resting more," Ian pointed out softly.

"As soon as this is over, I'll sleep for a week," Quentin promised. "Let me just find- oof..." He collided with Alec.

"Oh, careful," Alec said, hands on Quentin's shoulders to steady him. "You okay?" 

 

"Yes, I need to talk to James," Quentin said. "I figured out the spell. Now I just need to know when and where."

 

"And you need to know that because?" James's voice spoke up from where he was leaning against the doorway. 

 

"I figured it out!" Quentin said, trying to stay calm. "We'll be the distraction, and the backup. And the closer we are, the more effective the spell will be."

James looked steadily at Quentin. "The spell to forever stop Angela from reincarnating? Or the one to cleanse her soul?"

"Both, it will do both," Quentin smiled. "But it needed all of us together to work."

James wasn't smiling though, he looked like he was contemplating this. "Why cleanse her soul if she won't be reincarnating anyway?" 

 

"Because it's how we get her to not reincarnate, by finishing what she started," Quentin said. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful, and fight with you. I love you, James. I loved you then, at Skyfall, in the shepherd's hut, and I love you now, spy, soldier, assassin, killer or not."

James frowned. "So apart of whole soul cleansing business is to prevent her from reincarnating," he muttered slowly. "And you don't have to say sorry. You didn't sound ungrateful." He sighed, looking down at the patterns in the floorboards. "So what's your plan?"

"Ian is carrying the cauldron, so basically a flaming cauldron will levitate down the street," Quentin said. "Karen has the herbs, and I'll call the corners. I intend to make enough of a spectacle that no one notices you and Alec."

"Enough of a spectacle that she may notice you first rather than us noticing her?" James asked slowly.

"That's why I want to know when you are planning it, so we time it to happen all at once," Quentin said patiently.

"We're not even sure yet of her schedule, of the fixed places she would be at certain moments," James replied, just as patient. "And how am I going to contact you about the timing? Mobile signal here is..." His eyes flickered over to where Karen was, " _ bad _ ."

"Can you bring Olivia with you, and send her back here when it's time for us to meet you?" Quentin suggested. 

James was quiet for a few seconds before he replied, "Do you know anything that can shield us from Angela's detection?"

"There's a few things, but traveling with Olivia will be a big one," Quentin said. "Remember, it's not that she isn't there, it's that people don't see her because they don't expect to, like Karen."

"I know, but her presence can't hide us from Angela, should she be expecting something, though," James pointed out. "Olivia can be the messenger, yes, but Alec and I need to get close enough to both observe and take Angela out."

"Yes, but any little advantage we can use... I'll cast a cloaking spell as well," Quentin nodded. "Maybe we should do it when it rains?"

"The rain would muffle our presences?" James asked, thinking about this, trying to work this out.

"Do you see well in the rain?" Quentin asked. "It's not so different with magic. Its most powerful when you can see the object of your spell."

"We can see in the rain, just need more focus," James muttered. With added wind and everything else, they'd need to make sure they got everything right they were to go ahead and choose shooting her from a distance. But then again, that might not be a good option either. 

 

"We need to regroup, Alec, I think," James said a little distractedly.

"You mean you need to get your head out of your ass?" Alec raised an eyebrow.

James turned back to look at him. "What?" he asked quietly, one eyebrow raised.

"James, he's trying to reconcile what he learned about you, with what he's remembering," Alec said patiently. "He's trying to find a solution that works for both you and Ian, and at the same time be strong."

"Are you saying that I'm not understanding that, or are you saying that I'm just being an arse on purpose?" James asked, voice harsh.

"A bit of both?" Alec asked. "I've known you too long, James."

"I understand it, and I'm trying to be anything!" James hissed.

"James... Andrew... Bond..." Alec sighed and counted to ten under his breath. "We are going into a fight, and we have no idea who is going to survive. I need you to use your words, and talk to Quentin."

 

" _ Don't _ ," James squeezed his eyes shut, "call my middle name. And we talked already."

"So that's why he looks like he's about to cry?" Alec asked, ignoring Quentin's efforts to shush him. "James, make it right. Tell him how you feel. On the off chance one of you doesn't come back, don't leave it like this."

James's lips pressed to a thin line as he stared at Alec. "Fine. Let's talk then," he turned to look at Quentin at this.

"It's alright, just forget it," Quentin said softly.

"No, we're talking." James took Quentin's hand in his and led them both away from the group.

"Really, no, it's fine. Let's just... Be civil and finish this," Quentin couldn't quite meet his eyes.

They ended upstairs and in Quentin's room. James locked the door.

 

"Right, I tried that, but didn't seem to cut it for anyone. So, talk to me then."

"I... You want to try not to find me. Then what's the point of all this?" Quentin asked softly. "Just go back to London."

"If you're telling me to go back to London just because of that, you may as well tell me to give myself up to Angela," James muttered. "The point of this is for you not to get hurt."

"If you aren't here... If you don't find me next time... It doesn't matter," Quentin looked out the window and fiddled with the crushed herbs in his pocket.

"You won't remember me next time to know I should be coming," James said quietly.

"It... I knew when you weren't there. I knew something was missing," Quentin said softly. "I... Why? Why would you want to hurt me like that?"

 

"There's a reason why you never get to your old age in every single lifetime we were together, Quentin. Because you met me, I hurt you one way or another, and you died." James kept his voice steady. "So why not let you find someone better? There are 7 billion people in the world, and loads of them are better human beings who didn't take up murder as employment, Quentin."

"I don't want someone else, I love you!" Quentin shouted, hands curled into fists at his side. "And the reasons I died had almost nothing to do with you."


	22. Chapter 22

"It always started because you met  _ me _ ! Then your life wasted away when you couldn't anymore, and you died! Why do you have to die when you couldn't meet me anymore?! How is that fair? Why couldn't you move on from me and maybe find someone else who could actually be there and make you happy?!"

"Because I don't WANT anyone else! I want you,  for exactly who you are, James," Quentin was so frustrated he was shouting, face flushed.

"Who  _ am _ I, Quentin?" James raised his voice, but didn't resort to shouting, because he knew that his shouting would be too loud. "Whatever you know about me is from past lives, and it doesn't fit with  _ me _ anymore! I don't bloody grow flowers and roses; I didn't even make it through college to even be anything! Why would you even want me?! It doesn't make sense!"

"What the fuck does college have to do with anything? I like that you let me be me, you take care of me. You let me do stupid things, like purr. You don't make me feel stupid for dancing with you in the living room," Quentin sighed. "I don't bloody care if you grow flowers, I care that I'm safe with you."

 

"I'm talking about what you've done this week, not your past," Quentin frowned.

"I know. And what have I done this week? No, these past three  _ days _ ? Making you feel the most comfortable that I can provide, other than that? Nothing. And it's not even three days; the first day I didn't know who you were, and we're spending the third day arguing."

"And I think it's worth fighting for!" Quentin said. "I can't... I only have so much energy James. And right now we need to focus on the spell."

"Right," James muttered. "Let's finish what I'm helpful at first, and we can discuss this later then." He rubbed a hand down his face and sighed.

"I just want you to know, even with this life, I choose to be with you," Quentin said quietly.

"Why?" James asked quietly. "I have nothing to offer you, Quentin." Nothing that wasn't already broken.

"I don't need you to offer me anything... It's never been about material things," Quentin said. "It's about you being there."

 

"There and not knowing exactly what to do to help you..." James muttered, shaking his head. It wasn't a good feeling.

"I don't need you to buy me a house, I just need you to help me build one," Quentin shrugged. "I need your time, not material goods."

 

"You don't get it..." James sighed, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I've never talked about material goods." 

 

"All I want is you with me," Quentin said. "What do you think you can't give me?"

 

"Nothing that you deserve," James murmured. 

 

"You're such a hard head, ugh," Quentin had enough. "I don't want, or need, or deserve anything. I can take care of myself."

 

"Then why do you need me?" James asked. And he meant it. "Partners in a relationship are complementary to one another, and if I can offer you nothing, provide you with nothing, give you nothing you deserve, then why? Why do you need me? My presence and absence, if as such, adds nothing and takes away nothing from you." 

 

"Because I want you. Just you as a person," Quentin said. "I want your love, your affection, your attention."

 

James was quiet for a long time before he whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." He closed his eyes. "I just... I just want to know that there's actually something I can do for you... That I can be helpful to you in different ways."

 

"I don't need things, I want you," Quentin whispered. "I want to get old with you, wake up next to you."

 

"I know..." James whispered. "I know."

"So don't push me away?" Quentin asked softly. "I don't want Buckingham bloody Palace. I want tea with you in the morning. I accepted your proposal with a ring of daisies and a dirt floor. Did you really think I'd changed so much?"

"I don't think you have changed... But in all my lives... All I have given you is ultimately pain and suffering, and it... it pains me, Quentin." He let out a shaky breath. 

"So... What? Who care? I suffered when I didn't find you!"  Quentin said. "I was lost, and afraid, and alone."

"I care... I care when I had to hold you in my arms while you took your last breath..." He swallowed. "It's not a nice memory..."

"Would you rather I took it alone?" Quentin swallowed. "I've done that as well..."

"So have I," James whispered, that familiar pain tearing through his heart again, almost physical. "I just don't want to be the cause to you pain, but it doesn't work either way, does it?"

"No...," Quentin shivered. "The Buddhist monks believe we suffer until we learn to stop avoiding it. With you, at least it's worthwhile."

"We were neither seeking nor avoiding suffering when it comes, Quentin... It still happens..." James frowned, absently rubbing at his chest over where his heart was. "You really think we'll have a chance now?"

"A chance, yes. No guarantees..." Quentin answered, fingering the grimoire.

"So it's my fate to forever be the one to hurt you then." James sighed.

 

"it's your fate to walk next to me, and hold my hand when I hurt..." Quentin sighed. "I don't know. This modern world is a bad fit for me anyway."

"I'm not faring better myself..." James sighed. "I just don't like seeing you hurt is all, and being unable to help alleviate any of that." He closed his eyes. "But if that's what we are to each other then... I suppose we should make the best of it?"

"If you want that too..." Quentin said."I won't have ye against your will, James."

 

"It's not in my will to hurt you... And that's all." He sighed.

"Come here?" Quentin offered.

James looked at him for a long moment before stepping closer, still absently fingering at his chest.

"James, you stubborn, hard-headed man," Quentin smiled at him. "You're lucky I love you," he kissed his cheek and wrapped James up in his arms.

James leant into it, letting out a soft breath. "I know I'm lucky," he murmured. Extremely so.

"Well, that has never changed, has it?" James smiled a little.

"No," Quentin offered. "But I've never wanted you as anything but yourself, James."

"Even if I killed people for a living?" James asked quietly after a while.

"No, no matter what you did. It was just a shock to hear," Quentin offered. "I never, I don't have a right to tell you what to do, who to be. If I did, you wouldn't be the man I've always loved."

James heaved a sigh. "I'll try to be more helpful from now on... in other aspects, too. If you need anything, just tell me, okay?"

"Just be next to me," Quentin smiled.

James nodded. "I will." He sighed, carding a hand through Quentin's curls.

"I never doubted that," Quentin leaned into his, fingers chilly on James's warm skin.

James held his hand, pressing kisses to each of the fingertips.

"I owe you breakfast in bed, when all this is over," Quentin smiled.

James shook his head. "You owe me nothing, Quentin."

"And if I want to bring you breakfast in bed, a nice quiet weekend, you'd deny me that?" He challenged with a smile.

"Of course not," James smiled. "I'll try growing that rose again for you, give you good massages, wash the dishes."

"Spoil me rotten is what it is, stop that," Quentin flushed with pleasure.

 

"Why?" James arched an eyebrow, appreciating the flush that tinged Quentin's cheek. "Why should I stop spoiling you rotten? You're my lover."

"It's not... You don't need to, James," Quentin protested sweetly. "I'm a sure bet."

 

James blinked. "I still want to do that for you though..."

"I won't argue then," Quentin held onto him and nudged James with his cheek, purring. 

James chuckled, nuzzling back. The only thing stopping him from responding with a purr in kind was the fact that Quentin might look cute doing it, he wouldn't.

 

"You almost purred," Quentin accused. "I feel cheated."

"What?" James laughed. "That I didn't purr for you?"

"Just a little," Quentin colored, their conversation about a collar and bell flashing across his memory.

James noticed that and blinked, his lips quirking up. "What are you thinking about?"

"You said you'd get me a collar, with a bell," he said softly, blush on his cheeks. 

James smiled softly at that, pressing a kiss onto Quentin's cheek and that sweet, sweet skin. "And I will, as long as you approve."

"I'd love it, actually," Quentin said. "I really would," he smiled at Ian's glance. "But right now, we have our family to save."

James nodded and sighed. "I'll be right back and we can continue planning this out." He pressed a kiss to Quentin's lips and turned to the bathroom.

 

He closed the door and unbuttoned his shirt, just enough to be able to look at his chest... and paused.

 

There was a dark, purplish bruise right where he had been fingering, with equally dark tendrils spreading.

 

It pulsed, and he stared.

 

What?

"Alec?" Quentin went looking for the blond in the kitchen. "How soon are we wanting to do this?"

"As soon as possible." Alec nodded. "You talked it out?"

"Yes, thanks. He thought he had nothing to offer me, but... Well anyway. It worked out. When are we leaving?" Quentin asked, refilling his tea.

"I thought you said it's best when it rains?" James voice came filtered from the doorway.

 

"Hey," Alec perked up, pausing. "You okay?" 

 

James blinked. "I am."

"Why wouldn't he be? What's wrong?" Quentin turned. "James... What on earth is that on your skin?"

James looked down at where he had undone his shirt and frowned. How had Quentin seen it?

"I... I don't know..." he replied slowly.

"It's... Glowing? What on earth?" Quentin's finger shook as he unbuttoned the shirt. "That looks like... A burn."

"A cross between a bad bruise and a burn..." James murmured. "I don't know what that is... But I've been having strange pains there... since yesterday now, I think."

"It looks like a tracking mark honestly," Quentin shivered. "It's raising your body temperature, I could use my magic to follow you. Didn't Angela touch you when we were in town?"

"It's spreading... I think..." James frowned, looking at it. "She did... but somehow... this doesn't really feel new for some reason."

"Wait," Quentin slid off his own sweater. "Do I have one as well?"

James was hoping, very much, that Quentin didn't have one, and let out a sigh when that turned out to be the case. "You don't."

"But why would you have one, and not me?"

James thought about it for a moment, then murmured, "Maybe it's the leftover of when she captured me..."

"Maybe... I have no idea..." Quentin shrugged. "It's new to me."

"As it is to me," James murmured, covering the mark up. 

 

"Well... We will just have to figure it out," Quentin sighed. "Sooner the better on the spell, or should we wait?"

"I don't know... You're the expert on this after all..." James shrugged before sighing. "Anyway. We need to plan first. You said it's best for us if it rains?"

"As many odds as we have on our side, the better," Quentin worried. "But does it hurt?"

"You said you felt pain there, James?" Alec frowned, a little concerned. 

 

James nodded. "At times... whenever I remember something about Angela... or when I have a disagreement with Quentin."

 

"A memory blocker maybe? Let me check the grimoire," Quentin rubbed his forehead with a sigh. "Can you read to Karen or something for a bit? She's been looking forward to being with you."

"Okay," James sighed, leaning in to give Quentin a soft kiss, before leading them back to the library.

He pulled Karen into his arms when she lunged at him, laughed, and hoisted her up as they browsed through the books together

"She could be feeding off his energy," Quentin told Alec. "We were thinking something along those lines all along. But this is... He thinks about her or is angry with me... And it hurts. What would that signify?"

Alec sighed, looking over at James then back. "It can be as you said, both as something to feed off him... or something to try and separate you two, too..."

 

"A blood curse," Quentin flipped pages and sighed. "They're usually done with a sacrifice of some sort. Do we know what happened to the baby she was carrying when she was married off to James?"

James perked up at that and shook his head. "No... I don't remember much of any of that. There's a chance that we never kept up on what happened afterwards once we left."

 

"Oh gods, the poor child," Quentin swallowed. "I think she used it in the ritual."

James's face darkened. It wasn't his child, but really... it didn't make that bit of news any less of the monstrosity that it was. 

 

Subconsciously, he held Karen closer. 

 

"All that... for what?" Alec muttered, reviled himself.

"Power," Quentin said thickly. "The amount of sheer raw energy in a soul bond has always been a draw to those who practice dark magic."

"How do we get rid of it?" James asked quietly. "Does it say at all?"

 

"We do what we were planning to do all along. I'm sorry, Ian, but she has to die," Quentin swallowed. "I think you all stayed as ghosts because she sucked the life out of you. It's why we can feel you, physically."

Ian frowned, confused. "How so...? I thought we all died due to specific causes." 

 

"I would think she's behind each of them," Quentin sighed. "I... From what I knows, spirits don't have bodies. But I can touch all of you. I think each of your deaths fed the spell."

"So, if she dies," Ian began, slowly, softly, "then none of us will linger here anymore?"

 

"I rather think it's the opposite, actually. If I dare to hope," Quentin whispered.

Everyone was listening keenly now. "What do you mean?" James asked, voice quiet.

"Usually the spirit stays behind, not the physical body," Quentin reasoned. "But I can touch all of you. So... I'm really hoping she did the spell I'm thinking, but in reverse."

"So she made their bodies stay behind?" James blinked.

"Yes, at least I think so," Quentin pointed out a spell to make a ghost move on in the grimoire. "Tweaked a bit, use different elements, it explains the mark as well. You're the physical anchor for the spell."

 

James's eyebrows were furrowed, the mark twitching again as he smoothed a hand over it. "So they're all tied to me..." he murmured. "Then what if something happens to me? If Ian is counted as well, then she must have had this spell on me since the first lifetime or when we didn't need the next one..." 

 

"I think it's from when you turned her down," Quentin shivered. "You didn't meet Ian before this. She's... So evil. I hate how I'll she makes me feel, and powerless."

 

The questions of what happened to the people tied to the anchor remained, but just what they had on their hands alone were already more than horrible enough. "We should use all the advantages we have... When will it rain next?"

 

"Tomorrow at dawn," Alec checked his phone. "At least we can get a meal and some sleep," he swung Karen up on his shoulders.

 

The child laughed, her hands coming up to tease Alec's cheeks. 

 

James nodded. "Set your clock then. We all should get an early night in."

 

"We will," Alec headed off to the kitchen with Karen. "But first we're raiding the ice cream." 

 

"He's good with her, Quentin slipped an arm around James's waist.

 

"He is," James sighed, pulling Quentin close, a little tired. 

 

"You're good with her too, you make a good father," he said softly. "Do you want children?"

 

James let out a soft, probably amused laugh. He had never considered himself father material. "I have never really thought about it," he admitted. "It had never seemed like an option." He shrugged. "What about you?"

"I could barely take care of myself, let alone think about someone else," Quentin laughed. "Maybe? It might be a wonderful thing. But I'm hoping Karen will stay with us."

James hummed, nodding. "I hope so, too." His hand on Quentin's hip tightened softly.

"She deserves to be happy, piano and ballet and bikes," Quentin smiled. "I suppose if we can manage her, we can think about branching out."

"Branching out?" James smiled. "You want to?" 

"It would be... A great gift to give someone, a family," Quentin kissed James's cheek. "We certainly have room."

James looked at Quentin, something soft in his gaze. "We have room for two families, in fact, if not three," he said with a smile before pressing a kiss to Quentin's lips. "And you're wonderful. As long as you feel like you want it... We can always sign the proper papers for that later."

"As many families as we can fill the halls with," Quentin smiled, arms around James's neck. "Papers sound so formal, and... Great, actually. I'd love that."

James nodded, leaning his forehead against Quentin. This was worth it, he kept telling himself. This had to worth it... all that pain and suffering. 

 

"I'd love that, too." He smiled.

"Well, let's get through the next day," Quentin smiled. "You promised to carry me through the doors of Skyfall one day, Jamie. I'll hold you to that."

James nodded. "Once things here are done, there's nothing to hold us back anymore, Elliott," he smiled back.

"I like that," he smiled sweetly. "Dinner and an early night? Karen can stay with us, we can read aloud."

James nodded. "If that's what you want." Quentin's light and sweetness was infectious.

"I'd like it a lot, actually," Quentin pulled him along to the kitchen. "I never had a family that did things like that. I'm very excited to do them for the first time."

James nodded, squeezing Quentin's hand. "So what are we having tonight then, love?"

"I... Have no idea," Quentin laughed. "See what's in the fridge. Burgers and chips, maybe?"

"I'll get the chips then," James grinned. At least he could manage that.

"Potatoes are in the fridge," Quentin said, already rolling up his sleeves to make rolls.

James nodded, already taking them out to wash and peel, dunking the finished ones into cold water first, then patted them dry before frying.

By the time Quentin had rolls baking, there was a saucepan of cocoa and burgers cooking as well. Ian set the table, and when it was all finished, rang the dinner bell that still hung in the kitchen doorway.

The chips were done first, not so surprisingly. Golden and crispy around the edges, and James smiled when Alec came whooshing in with Karen, and, a little surprisingly this time, Olivia in tow.

"Wow, I haven't ever had a family dinner," Quentin grinned in delight as he handed out plates.

"Let's make it a habit then," James smiled, setting the rest of everything up. Once everything was done, he sat down next to Karen and got Quentin to be on his other side. 

  
"Now," James turned to Karen, who was excitedly swinging her feet. "What do we say?"


	23. Chapter 23

"Thank you for the food!" she said loudly, laughing.

Quentin grinned and squeezed James's hand, charmed that the two still had the tradition after so long.

"What is everyone's favorite food?" He asked. "We'll have a feast when all this is over."

Everyone paused a little at that, probably considering, and Karen went first: "Ice-cream." 

James laughed at her grinned even as he tried to keep a sort of neutral face. "A main course, sweetheart."

"Is stew okay then?" She was looking at Quentin now.

"Yes, and you can even eat your ice cream first," Quentin hugged her.

Karen cheered and hugged Quentin back tightly. "Thank you!"

"I might eat my pie before dinner," Quentin laughed, her smile infectious.

"Excellent choice!" she beamed, and everyone chuckled softly. 

The answers, from there, went about the table. "What's yours?" James asked Quentin.

"Curry of some sort," Quentin smiled. "I'll see what we have in the pantry, I think there's some coconut milk I can use. And I'll make pineapple rice with it."

"We can always go into town later if you need anything," James said softly.

"True," Quentin nodded. "I'll need vegetables and fruit for the ice cream anyway," he winked at Karen.

Karen beamed and clapped her hands as James patted her head softly. 

"Any favorites?" He asked. "And you'll have to remind me to get cream to whip for on top, and chocolate shavings. That's the best part," he smiled at her. 

There was no mistaking her and James were related. In fact most people would assume she was his daughter, identical blue eyes and dimples.

Karen's eyes were round as saucers, very much thrilled by the fact that she could have both ice-cream and whipped cream and chocolate shavings. 

James could see the fondness in Quentin's eyes as he looked at Karen, and chuckled when Karen said, "I can't decide between strawberry and chocolate."

"We can make some of each, or get chocolate topping for the strawberry flavour," Quentin offered. "I think I want nuts on mine as well."

He leaned against James, content to listen to the discussion going on around them. He was happy, but worn out from the emotional day.

They enjoyed the delicious burgers, and James fed Quentin some of the chips while watching Karen eat as well. It was still a strange thing... she seemed to enjoyed it, but the food didn't wane from her plate. It made his heart ache, and he wondered if that was the mark or just something physical altogether.

Quentin noticed his gaze and squeezed James's hand. "Tomorrow, we hope it will all be different."

"I hope so, too," James sighed. "Let's finish dinner, then we can retire early."

"Karen, do you want to choose a book, and we can read after dinner?" Quentin asked. 

"Yes, please." Karen smiled. "Something with fantasy genre?" 

"Of course," James nodded. "Finish eating, and we can go choose whichever you want."

"You can show us which you haven't read," Quentin smiled.

Olivia shooed them out of the kitchen, and washed dishes, no matter how many times Quentin had protested they had a dishwasher now.

"She likes it the old-fashion way," James said as they headed to the library. 

"Can you read to me  _ The Story of Doctor Dolittle _ ?" Karen asked from where she stood.

"Whatever you like, Karen," Quentin looked along the shelf of children's chapter books and chose it.

The book was worn, much like all the other books in the library, but Karen still grinned when Quentin plucked it out for her, holding on to James as he picked her up so they could all head back to the bedroom.

Pajamas on, Quentin opened the well loved book and started reading. James laid on one shoulder, and Karen rested her head on his knees.

James listened, watching both Quentin and Karen, and sighed, having never really felt this peaceful before coming into this place. 

And it was all by chance, too (because, oddly enough, it still didn't sit well with him, the thought of having something as a 'higher power' dictate what happened in their lives, even after all this about witches and ghosts and magic), and James was really glad for that.

He reached out to pet Karen's hair, soothing her mostly. He wondered if she could fall asleep, the way she was right then. 

Quentin read until his voice got scratchy, and then handed the book off to James. Karen's eyes were closed, and he tucked a blanket around her.

"Thank you," James mouthed softly, pressing a kiss to Quentin's forehead and taking the book into his hand.

"Goodnight love, until tomorrow," Quentin whispered.

"Sweet dreams," James murmured softly. "Until tomorrow."

Dawn came too early, accompanied by thunder and lightning. Quentin opened his eyes, and James was still next to him.

James had been up for sometime, and had been watching Quentin. "Morning."

"You ready to save the world?" Quentin asked softly, careful not to jar Karen as he leaned into James for a kiss.

James smiled softly. "I'm ready to try and save our world." He leant into the kiss with a sigh.

"Let's go then," Quentin shook Karen gently. "Wake up, baby girl. Showtime."

She woke up with a groan, and from there, they began to resume preparation.

"So I'm thinking we can all fit in the car, and then you can drop us off just outside of town," Quentin said. 

James nodded. He thought so, too. Alec and he cleared the boot to make some space before putting the cauldron inside. "Thank God it's a hatchback," James muttered.

"And it fits cauldrons, good to know," Quentin grinned and piled into the back seat.

"I'm more pleased right now that it is a hatchback than I was when I first rented it." James laughed, getting into the driver's seat. They had checked one last time for everything and began to descend the mountain, meandering along the muddy trails. 

"Ugh, this is bringing back horrible memories of getting carsick on school trips," Quentin opened the window. "Slower, please?"

James nodded, looking at Quentin in the rear view mirror. "You sure you're okay?" he asked. Quentin had seemed fine the day before when they had gone into town together.

"Yes... nerves I suppose," he admitted. "It's all a bit overwhelming."

By the time they parked, Alec handed out umbrellas and ponchos to everyone. "Ten minutes, then light your coals," he reminded.

James gave both Quentin and Karen a hug, and told everyone to be careful. "Anything off, you leave. Never hesitate. If you get caught, it'll be even more troublesome."

Quentin shivered at the pouring rain and reached out with his magic. There was no question in his mind that something dark was lurking, waiting for them to make their play.

"What is it?" James asked quietly. "She knows we're coming?"

"I think she knows, but she can't get a location on us," Quentin said. "Can you keep Olivia with you two, so she'll shield you?"

"I thought she was only meant to be the messenger?" James blinked.

"I think when they're with us, they cloak our presence," Quentin said. "I want you and Alec safe as well."

James nodded quietly. "Keep an eye on your watch," he reminded Quentin again. They had all synchronized their watches. "Olivia will come back to tell you how things turn out." Good or bad.

"Nine minutes thirty seconds," Quentin nodded. "I know. I love you, James."

"I love you, too, Quentin." He kissed Quentin deeply before reluctantly letting go.

Quentin held his head up and kept looking forward, resolute that he wouldn't turn back and cry. He held Ian's hand on one side, and Karen's on the other, the cauldron seemingly floating along beside him.

It made an odd, but endearing sight, and James sighed at the taut line of Quentin's shoulders before slipping back into the car. 

"Let's go," he told Alec quietly, starting the engine and driving away.

Alec only nodded and checked the weapons once again.

"Are you sure I'm enough help for you?" Olivia narrowed her eyes at them in the rearview mirror. "I brought along the kitchen cleaver, just in case."

James blinked, somehow suppressing a small smile. "Thank you, Olivia. I'm sure that's quite all we need." 

He turned to where Alec was checking the tranquilizers. "I won't ask why you manage to have that on hand."

"Yes, don't," Alec rolled his eyes. "Like you pretend I retired."

"Well, what else do I tell Quentin when we only just met? 'Oh, by the way, I have a friend who does dangerous missions that can possibly involve ending the lives of a few people?'" James muttered.

"You and Quentin need to have a rather serious discussion after this," Alec said quietly. "He's worried about what else you'll spring on him down the line."

"I told him about most of every other general things he needs to know already, Alec... No need to go into details." James sighed.

"James, you've shared dreams for years," Alec reminded. "He already knows. He knew what I looked like, that we were seasick in the NAvy our first voyage. It will hurt him more if he finds out later, than if you tell him all of it and be frank."

"I can't very well tell him about my missions, Alec," James frowned. "I've already told him about the key events, too."

"I'm not saying details," Alec said. "But a job description? Why you went into that field?" He got out of the car carefully, even if the rain would hide the noise of their steps.

James sighed, and muttered a 'fine' before getting out of the car, too, quietly shutting the door behind him and easily got into step with Alec as they went to where they had planned to position themselves.

Quentin lit the fire, Ian holding the cauldron upside down over their hands. The rain was pouring down, soaking him, his hair clinging to his head.

An umbrella flew out and opened over Quentin's head to shield him from the rain as much as possible, and Karen turned back to what they were then doing.

"I should be creeped out by that," Quentin laughed. "Alright, four minutes and counting. Let's light the kindling."

Karen giggled before helping Ian out to do what Quentin had instructed.

Quentin removed an herb from each pocket, and held them right in his hands to keep the dry. He started walking counter clockwise, calling the four corners. Ian and Karen stood back, not knowing much else to do, or expect.

"Thirty seconds... Just repeat after me," Quentin pulled out the hens. "Stoke the fire."

They nodded and had a fire going soon enough, white smoke rising into the rain.

"Alright, three, two, one..." Gabriel started sprinkling on the herbs and chanting slowly.

Ian kept the fire going while Karen focused on keeping the cauldron in the air, away from the ground that was growing steadily muddier under their feet. They both were repeating after Quentin.

"Can you see anything, Ian?" Quentin reached out with his magic for James.

Ian shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "No, not yet."

"Alright," Quentin pulled a knife from his pocket. "Time to get serious then," he took a deep breath and slit his palm, holding it over the cauldron.

Ian hissed and Karen gasped audibly. "Quentin, what are you doing?" the little girl exclaimed.

"Playing dirty," Quentin gritted his teeth.

"That's enough, Quentin," Ian said with a hint of urgency, hand on Quentin's elbow.

"No, not until I know that he's safe, and she's gone," Quentin growled. "She doesn't get to take him from me, not again."

"What are you even doing? Luring her out with your blood?" Ian was worried.

"Yes," Quentin nodded. "Blood for blood, if I need to."

"It won't help anyone but her if you drain yourself too much, Quentin," Ian warned softly.

"I know," Quentin said faintly, murmuring a few words to heal the wound. He looked around the square, but there was no way to differentiate what was lightening, and what might be a fight.

Eventually, people who walked around paused and stared at the cauldron floating in midair, gasping and pointing. 

"Do you see them?" Quentin asked again. 

"Not yet," Ian was looking around sharply, fluttering to every possible corner that his eyes could reach, and Karen did the same.

Quentin started singing, something low and Gaelic, reaching out. It was a song about love and loss, about coming back to find someone gone, and never giving up the search.

The people were mesmerized... entranced. Some was even wiping their eyes a little as the song progressed, and, somewhere in the distance, a shot rang out, mostly muffled by the rain and thunders.

Quentin sang louder to distract the townspeople further. There were more people drifting out on their porches, drawn by the crowd.

Later, a more subtle  _ bang _ resounded in the distance, blended in with the striking thunders. 

Olivia came floating out. "Time to move."

"Where is the car?" Quentin asked.

"Over there," Olivia pointed to where James had had the car hidden behind inconspicuous bushes. "They're bringing her there right now."

"Let's finish this," Quentin took Karen's hand. " Can you keep carrying the cauldron Ian? And add more wood."

Ian nodded. "Go, I'll take care of this." 

"What do we need to do to help, Olivia?" Quentin asked as they snuck through the bushes.

"Probably start the engine first," Olivia said. "They're coming back with her."

"As long as I don't have to drive," Quentin laughed. "Karen, in the back."

Karen scrambled in, eyes wide as she watched Quentin start the car just as Alec and and James returned, discreetly bringing an unconscious Angela with them.

"Oh shit," Quentin said softly.

They got her in the trunk because, no, she should be away from everyone as far as they could manage it. 

"Let's go," James said.

"Back to the house?" Quentin asked. "Are we supposed to burn her?"

"If you feel the need to cleanse her soul first," James said, both him and Alec as soaked through as Quentin was. 

"Fuck..." Quentin winced as Karen scolded him. "Of course it isn't simple," he drove as fast as he could, the car careening over the muddied roads.

"If we burn her, and she's working for the local office.... How do we stop the police from coming after us?" James spoke up, reaching out to steady the wheel when it seemed like the car's momentum and the muddy road was sending them more off course than they should be.

"Did anyone see you take her?" Quentin asked.

James shook his head. "We checked. As far as we know, no one did."

"Then we just hide her body... let it decompose," Quentin said. "With this mud, she may never be found."

James sighed and nodded. "We'll be needing shovels then." Quickly, the house was already looming ahead.

"Greenhouse," Olivia told them. 

Quentin shooed Karen and Ian into the house and turned to James. "Is she dead?"

James shook his head. "We shot her twice and another time out of precaution. So other than a little bruised and highly sedated, she's not dead. Yet." 

"Shit shit shit," Quentin felt ill. "Alright, let's start with the exorcism. I sent Ian and Karen in, I don't think this would go over well. There's a broad sword in the front hall on the mantle, Alec, will you bring it out please?"

Alec nodded and was already off, running off into the house. James turned to Quentin. "What do you need me to do?" 

"Start digging?" Quentin asked grimly. "We have kerosene and sulfur. I'm going to cut off her head first."

James sighed and nodded, taking up the shovel and started to find a good spot to begin digging. 

Quentin resolutely didn't look at Angela, just focused on all the things that she had done as he mixed the sulfur and Kerosene into a paste and poured it on her.

The bowl he had been using got flung away suddenly. 

"Really? Sulfur and Kerosene?" Angela made a face and sent Quentin flying backward with a flick of her fingers.

"Quentin!" James shouted, running over to where his lover was. 

"James, James," the witch climbed out of the trunk and stood up. "I'm disappointed." 

"Disappointed? You fed on a child's life!" Quentin called up a circle of fire around himself and James. "But why us? That's what i don't understand."

"Why not you?" She sneered, flinging her hand as her magic lashed out to beat against the licking fire that surrounded Quentin and James. "What's there not to understand? You  _ bewitched _ him! He left me because of you!" 

"No, Angela," Quentin shook his head. "I didn't steal him from you. You've always had it wrong. I was his."

"No," she growled. "I've never gotten it wrong. What I never anticipated was that you lured him into the woods far enough and got a deity to  _ bless _ you!" 

"It's love, Angela," Quentin shook his head. "Love in its purest form. Nothing I did or said made it happen. I only fell for him," he called flames from his fingertips and aimed them at her. "You'll never understand that, because you're so full of hate, and power hungry."

Ice countered the fire, mostly neutralizing it. "Of course you'll never admit to having ever done anything," she hissed. "And what if I'm full of hate and power hungry? So what? The world has never been kind, and only those with power get to survive and don't have to live like bloody slaves!" 

"We've been poor," Quentin sighed. "Jamie was bought by my father. We died early and he fought in wars and we lost people. Everyone does, Angela. It's life. I don't understand why you think you're exempt," his temper turned into wind, blowing the rain to soak her.

"Where's Alec?" He whispered to James.

  
"It's not even about exemption. It's about choice." She turned the water into ice and throwing it back at them. "It's about you choosing to suffer instead of rising above it. It's about you choosing to take what isn't yours!"


	24. Chapter 24

"It's coming," James whispered back, knowing that Alec was moving in the woods to get his chance. 

"There were lives I didn't have magic, and my happiness has never been at the price of someone else's suffering," Quentin shook his head. "What did you tell my father happened to his baby? I know that wasn't Jamie's child."

"I never claimed it was Jamie's child. He had always known very well that it wasn't." She stared at them, something turning cold in her eyes, much like the ice that she had been conjuring. "She died that winter when you left me." Her eyes flickered over to where James was. "She was sick, and  _ your _ father didn't want to have anything to do with her, so he didn't even give enough money to treat her... And she died." 

"Not of natural causes," Quentin said sadly. "She died because people like you and my father think people are disposable."

"Yes, and you were there when I held her while she was struggling for breath," Angela replied icily, the raindrops vibrating all around her. 

"There was nothing that I knew for influenza, Angela," Quentin sighed. "If I was a healer, do you think I would have allowed us to die so many times?"

"Of course there was nothing you could have done! I've never asked anything about that," she sneered. "It was sarcasm,  _ Young Master Elliot _ . You haven't remembered everything, have you? How could you have been there?! You had already ran away with him by the time that winter came. She was only two!" 

Frost were fanning out under her feet, tendrils burrowing closer and closer to where James and Quentin were. 

It was then that Alec jumped out from the bushes, slashing forward with the sword Quentin had told him to fetch. 

"I don't know how you expect me to fix this, now," Quentin put a hand on Alec's shoulder so the flames flowed through the sword. "It's been centuries. And I never laid a hand on you."

The sword managed to catch her a little with its blazing blade, and she screamed, stumbling backward a little. 

"Who the hell needs you to fix it?! It's been centuries," she growled, using her magic to stop the flames from eating into her arm. "And you've stolen him over and over and over again. I hate you," she sneered, before snarling as bullets shot her way, one got her in the shoulder, the other she sidestepped, shouting and knocking James down on the ground with a gust of wind. 

"I hate  _ you _ even more, Jamie! Even with a child's life at stake, you still  _ went to him _ ! I never asked you to take care of her or even hold her or look at her, not once, because she wasn't yours." Her chest heaved. "Shame on me, but I just needed you to be there, even if you didn't love me... I just needed you to be there." 

"I love him," James spat, struggling to get up and struggling to breathe. His chest throbbed, it had been as though invisible pain had been stabbing into his heart. "I couldn't have been anywhere else but with him. Life's a bitch, I get it, but don't try to pin it on us."

"Why was he supposed to fix your miserable existence?" Quentin shouted. "Why was it his job? He was a slave, bought and sold. The one bit of pleasure we found in life was with each other!" 

Quentin nodded at Alec to keep advancing forward. "You seduced my father and then decided to blame the consequences on us. You've never been responsible for yourself. Ian, Karen, I'm sure they were just a way to hurt us."

"I seduced  _ your father _ ?" She barked a laugh. "You can go to his little grave and ask him if he hadn't been itching to have a good fucking with me, darling boy! It's because Jamie and I were slaves together that I thought we would've understood one another better," Angela snarled, ice fanning out from beneath her feet. 

"You canna win, not against love, Angela," Quentin shook his head. "You can't destroy something that's meant to create. You couldn't stop us from being in love then, and you won't now."

Angela paused and nodded. "You're right," she murmured. "Hence, why I decided, a long while back, that I'll make sure you can never have him if I couldn't." 

She smiled, eyes glowing as she chanted something, and suddenly raised her forefinger to point at James, who hissed and fell onto the ground, one hand going up to clutch at his chest. 

"It's not yours to decide, it never was," Quentin shook his head. "Not mine. James is his own person, it's his choice."

"Yes, and I am making my own choice, too." She twisted her hand, hair turning white as the power oozed from her in waves, using her free hand to push Alec away from advancing.

"No, what you are doing is controlling," Q countered. "Ask James to come, of his own free will."

"He did... that one time," she replied, voice suddenly growing quietly. "For tea, when you were gone. We had such a good time, didn't we, James?" she asked. "Until you insisted on leaving." 

She twisted her hand, and James screamed. 

Under the ominous grey sky, her eyes were growing a glacier shade of blue. "Your dormant magic always tastes so nice, James..." She smiled toothily. "I've never found anyone that tastes better than you."

"Magic? James doesn't have..." Quentin's eyes lit up. "The stag, of course. It only appears when we're together."

Angela hummed. "It's asleep inside of him you see... connected to the land. It's a sweet, refreshing energy, even if it doesn't really manifest itself." She licked her lips.

"It doesn't work for you," Quentin shook his head. "It's the other half of mine. The earth and water to my fire and air."

"It doesn't matter." She shrugged. "I still enjoy whatever I can get."

"But that's the point, his magic does you no good. It doesn't complement yours, it lowers it."

"I don't care," she snapped, power flaring. "I enjoy it because it's his."

"Try again," Quentin grinned, his magic wrapping around James like a cloak.

"You can try to shield him," she said. "But it's a parasite, you see. You must have noticed it." She smiled. "I planted it there myself, the seed, right into the core of his magic back when he was still strapped to my bed, struggling to get away."

"Dammit..." Quentin could see it there, hated that she had a hold on James.

There was a high-pitched shriek ringing in the air, baritone nearly too high for normal human being's ears, and a blur of a figure dashed out from the direction of the house.  _ "Don't touch my brother!"  _ Karen screamed, seeming to vibrate, and it almost seemed like every possible thing was flying toward Angelica.

Quentin put his hands flat on James's chest and pulled, the marks on his chest glowing through his clothing.

Distracted by Karen, Angela missed that and immediately when Quentin pulled on the parasite, the expression on her face twisted and a surge of blood gurgled up her throat.

"We're connected," Quentin snarled, twisting the tendrils. "And he's mine, by choice."

James reached and shakily held onto Quentin's hand, squeezing. Whatever power he was said to have, he only hoped it got transfer through to Quentin. 

"Yours?" Angela hissed through a mouthful of blood that looked crimson on her pale skin. "Debatable."

"Nothing debatable about it," Quentin's hand heated where James was holding them. He twisted the tendrils in his mind and snapped them, one by one. 

Both James and Angelica were seizing as each tendril snapped. "Go on," the witch gasped. "End me. But be prepare to bury him soon, too." She grinned. "You know I kidnapped him before. I fed him enough spells and potions to corrupt his soul magic already."

"He can live on the good in mine," Quentin shook his head. "And there's always next time. We have nothing to lose, but this is the end for you," he silenced James a he began to protest.

"D-don't," James wheezed. "If you hurt yourself... I-I can't..." He'd never be able to live with himself, even if all of this, magic and spells and ghosts, were out of his depths.

"I have you," Quentin promised, even as he felt the tendrils twisting his skin. "Trust me."

"I don't know what's going on," James managed. "But I'm not blind, Quentin," he looked pointedly at the tendrils that were trying to eat their ways into Q's skin. "Don't," he whispered, pushing that hand away. "You're right... it's never the end for us."

"But it ends her..." Quentin pushed his power towards James. "Then at least we'd get a fair chance."

"If it ends you, too, then there's no reason..." James shook his head.

"Trust me," Quentin smiled at him. "Come on Jamie... I want to go grey at Skyfall with ye."

They were both growing dangerously pale, but at the look in Quentin's eyes, something in James softened, and he finally nodded, squeezing the hand in his grip. "Okay."

"Olivia... Karen..." Quentin gritted his teeth. "Just a little help?"

Ian was there, holding on to Quentin, along with Olivia and Karen, who was still keeping Angelica busy. 

When the cauldron shook then hurled toward the witch, she hissed and had to get out of the way, breaking her grip on Alec, who immediately took charge and stabbed her with the enchanted sword Q had given him, drawing a scream from her as it burnt through her flesh.

"Hang on, James," Quentin panted. "Just a bit more, hold on for me."

The veins in one of James's eyes were damaged, sending blood spreading all over the white surrounding his iris, but he nodded anyway, fiercely determined.

Angela went limp on the sword, and Alec poured the kerosene over her. "Torch!" He yelled, and Ian did better, pouring the cauldron of coals and incense over her.

The sickening smell of burning flesh and kerosene filled the air, the fire having sparked effortlessly despite the drizzling rain. Angelica screamed, and before James knew it, his face was pressed into the damp earth and grass as well, clawing at the parasite in his chest as it writhed and pulsed.

"Hang on, I have you," Quentin gritted his teeth, his grasp on James's fingers the only thing grounding him. 

Their lives danced before his eyes... Dancing... Smiling... Tears... Watching him sleep.

James never let go, even as his vision blackened around the edges and he fought for each breath. The only person he could see and hear right then was his love, and his love alone. 

And in that moment, Quentin, Elliott, and any other names of the lives they had led... his love was strikingly beautiful.

"Tomorrow, we'll wake up tomorrow next to each other," Quentin said, convinced.

The air stuttered in his lungs, and he could taste and smell blood everywhere, but it didn't matter, and James just nodded. He believed in Quentin, and he wanted to believe that finally they'd have a life together once more.

Angela turned to a pile of ash around Alec's sword as Quentin watched. The tendrils twisting his chest gave one last twist, and snapped.

It was like a vice had been released around him, and James took his first full, albeit somewhat shuddered, breath in a long while. It was like something had been lifted from the air, cleansing it, and the falling rain only added more to it than anything. 

Shakily, he pushed himself up and pulled Quentin into his arms.

"I love you, I love you," Quentin whispered. "Let's go home."

"Let's," James said hoarsely, holding onto Quentin tightly as though trying to ascertain that this was real after all.

Quentin managed to stagger to his feet, Ian and Alec catching he and James. "Can we... Can we rest?"

Alec nodded quickly and helped them up to their room.

"I love you, I love you," Quentin kept pressing kisses to James's hand, holding on as tightly as he could.

Once they managed to get back into their room and Alec had made sure they didn't need anything else, they were left to have their rest, and James sighed, hugging Quentin tightly. "Sorry I ended up being of no help," he murmured.

"You were wonderful, you gave me extra energy to keep fighting," Quentin kissed his bruised face. "How about a bath? I can't stand this smell on me."

James nodded quickly. They headed for the ensuite and while the tub filled up, James washed his mouth at the sink, spitting blood out until at least it wasn't overwhelming his senses.

"I'm afraid to say I'm glad it's over, or it won't be," Quentin shivered as he stepped into the tub 

James got in, too, just happy that he got himself steady enough, and pulled Quentin into his arms so he could lean against James. "You beautifully, Quentin," he said. "You saved us all."

"I just... I had to save you," Quentin whispered.

"You're too good to me," James replied. "I didn't manage to do anything."

"Your power added to mine was just what we needed to defeat her," Quentin hugged him fiercely.

"Thank God for that," James murmured, squeezing Quentin. "I wouldn't know what to do otherwise." Other than giving his life to just end her.

"So, let's wash up, get some sleep... And we'll figure the rest out in the morning."

James nodded with a sigh. "Let's." 

They washed each other up gently after that, James glad that the parasite was gone from his body even as that spot in his chest still ached. He picked up Quentin's hand and pressed kissed to each fingertip.

"Now we get to enjoy growing old together?" Quentin whispered. "It's hard to believe."

"We'll have to experience it to believe it, I suppose," James smiled, kissing his forehead.

"That sounds excellent," Quentin nodded sleepily against his chest. "And after these bruise heal, I want a good long stretch in bed."

"And a good massage," James smiled, a hand on the back of Quentin's neck. "Let's get us back into bed." He kissed his lover's temple. 

"Mmm, yes please," Quentin stretched to wrap his arms around James's neck. "I love you, Jamie."

"I love you, too, Quentin," James whispered back and wrapped fresh towel around the man, helping him dry himself, then did the same for himself before they headed back to the bed.

"This is amazing," Quentin murmured. "I want to remember this."

"Me too," James said, smiling softly. "We'll probably have to start a journal as well, I suppose; if nothing then to record moments like this."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Quentin grinned. "But you should be the one to write it. You have nicer handwriting."

"Nonsense," James chuckled. "I'm not a romantic." 

"I'll dictate," Quentin grinned. "But I only type, I have handwriting like a doctor."

"All right, as long as you pay me well enough to do it." James winked and kissed him gently.

"Certainly..." Quentin yawned. "I'm not sure what you'd like payment in, but I'm sure it can be arranged."

"Just having you there is already enough." James smiled, carding slow hand through Quentin's hair. "Now sleep."

Quentin woke up slowly, muscles still aching.

He opened his eyes and smiled, watching James still asleep, mouth open, beside him on the pillow.

His breathing was a little breathy; James's. The strains from what happened the previous day were still there, but he looked better. 

Gradually, though, he began to wake up, and immediately, blue eyes settled upon Quentin, and a slow smile unfurled on his lips. "Hey."

"Hi love," Quentin was still exhausted, but thrilled to be next to him.

James pulled him closer gently, nuzzling him. "How did you sleep?"

"Good, really good," Quentin smiled. "Im still sore, but I feel... Alive."

"That's good," James rubbed his back. "Fancy a massage, then?"

"I'd love one," Quentin stretched and tossed off his blankets, and froze. "James?"

James sat up, immediately alarmed, despite his chest protesting the movement somewhat. "What is it?" he asked.

"The scars... From the wreck... Take off your shirt?" Quentin's hands fumbled as he tried to help him unbutton the shirt. "Your bullet wound scar... They're gone."

James's eyes widened as he looked at himself, then at Quentin. It took him a second before he could say, "Do you still feel stiff? Other than the aches from exhaustion, how do you feel?" he asked urgently.

"I feel..." Quentin placed his feet on the floor and stood. "Oh my goddess... I can... It doesn't hurt."

James let out a near choked breath as he got up quickly and swept Quentin in his arms, kissing him soundly with a laugh. Really, he couldn't be more happy: he would do anything to take care of Quentin, yes, there was no denying that, but more than anything, he only wished that his love wasn't constantly in pain because of the car crash he had to suffer through. 

"James, your shoulder doesn't hurt?" Quentin asked, rubbing his hands over James's shoulders. "You... The marks... They're gone!"

James laughed, possibly sounding more surprised and a little excited. "I'm just glad that you're not in pain anymore," he said, kissing Quentin soundly. 

"I haven't been able to walk first thing in the morning since..." Quentin sat down in shock. "Wow."

James grinned, beyond believing a little himself right then, but he leant in and pressed kisses to Quentin's hands—his palms, his fingers, the back of his hands, his wrists. "I'm glad." 

"I want... Can we go running?' Quentin grinned. 

James laughed. "Absolutely. As long as you have the clothes for it," he teased.

"Oh..." Quentin sat back. "Let me check the back of the wardrobe," he dove off the bed and pulled out some sweat pants and a hoodie, and a pair of muddy trainers.

"Tell me you had those beforehand and the house didn't just provide that," James laughed quietly.

"I don't know?" Quentin shrugged helplessly. "I can't imagine that I did..."

James chuckled and shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, I suppose."

"Even before, I only ran when I was about to miss the bus," Quentin grinned. "Come on!"

James grinned and nodded as he got changing, too, and put his trainers on. "Let's go then."

"Thanks for indulging me, I'm so excited," Quentin laughed. "And then I want tea... And scones, and..." His voice faded as he headed down the stairs.

James came following him quickly. "Anything you want," he said, excited too to see Quentin so energized. 

"Do we get to walk to the village, or is it too far?" Quentin stopped at the door. "Can we do a walking tour of Paris... And I was thinking of..." He tripped and ended up sitting in a mud puddle, glasses askew, laughing.

James laughed, too, helping him up from the puddle. "After I find my lover under all the mud first," the man teased, wiping Quentin's glasses first before moving onto his face with the sleeve of his sweater.

"Oh dear, I think I need a bath," Quentin grinned. "Maybe before the village."

"I'm not letting you into the house like that," Olivia brought out some wet flannels. "What a mess. It's so good to see you smile," she tried to hide a laugh. 

James grinned, taking the flannels. "Thank you, Olivia. You're a godsend." He started to wipe Quentin down with them.

"There's fresh blueberry scones, if you're hungry before you run to Paris," Olivia teased. 

"Damn, she got us there. Ow!" James laughed when the woman swatted him on the shoulder. 

"We're going to Paris?" Karen came running down the front steps before giggling at Quentin. "You're a right proper mess."

"Fell straight into the puddle," James agreed. "And yes, we are I think." He looked at Quentin. "As long as you're game." 

"Oh my god... Yes!" Quentin grinned. "All of us... If we can arrange papers."

"Are you sure we're not the only ones who can see them?" James asked slowly, carefully.

"I... Really have no idea," Quentin admitted. "Especially after last night. Maybe we should start with a trip into town first?"


	25. Chapter 25

"What's with all the ruckus first thing?" Ian groused a little, but he really didn't look at all that bothered about it. 

 

"Fancy a trip to town again?" James asked him with a smile.

"Maybe after a shower?" Quentin stood with a laugh, the mud sucking at his clothes.

 

"Come on then," James said, pulling him closer, mud and all. "Take off your trainers and I'll help you upstairs."

 

Quentin kicked them off. "I suppose this means shopping as well," he sighed.

 

"Yes. A lot of shopping." James smiled, picking Quentin up in his arms. 

 

"Books, and shoes... And..." Quentin stopped speaking to kiss James, losing his triangle of thought.

 

"And everything you want. All the nice and comfortable clothes I can get you." James leaned in for another kiss, smiling. 

 

"I have clothes," Q protested. "We can certainly go to the stationary store though, find a journal."

 

"Clothes," James repeated with an amused smile. "Doesn't mean I can't buy you new ones." 

 

"I suppose," Quentin conceded as James carried him up the stairs.

 

"Good," James agreed, kissing him on that somewhat clean spot on his forehead, and went back into their room where he found a drawn bath was already waiting for them, steaming. He laughed. "I'm starting to like the perks of this house." 

 

"Well Olivia is in the kitchen, it wasn't her," Quentin shrugged off his muddy clothes. "I'll just agree to enjoy it."

 

"No harm done there," James shrugged himself, helping and watching Quentin at the same time. 

 

"Paris though... Really?" Quentin marveled. "I'll need a new sketchbook and pencils."

 

"Paris... and maybe Italy, too, if you fancy it." 

 

"Oh wow..." Quentin's eyes went wide. "I'd love that."

 

James hummed. "We can go to Florence, then the Vatican City to visit the Sistine Chapel, and all the museums and places that suit your interests." 

 

"Oh my god, really?" Quentin squeaked as he got in the tub.

 

"Really," James nodded, entirely serious. "All of it and more."

 

"Wow... I always dreamed of doing things like that," Quentin slid under the water to wet his hair. 

 

James took the shampoo and started washing Quentin's hair with it once he came back up.

 

"I love you," Quentin sighed happily, relaxing back against James.

 

"I love you, too," James smiled. "And I'm glad at least now we'll have the chance to do what we want." 

 

"Yes, I've always wanted to travel," Quentin admitted. "I couldn't afford it before, and when I could, well... I was too injured to travel alone."

 

James nodded and leant in to kiss him. "We have the means and each other now... tell me where you want to go, and I'll take you there, yeah?"

 

"Everywhere...? I don't know where to choose," Quentin laughed.

 

"We can always number the possibilities then draw one randomly as our next point." James grinned. "Greek, Spain, New Zealand..." 

 

"Oooh... Greece..." Quentin sighed happily. "I'd best invest in good sun cream. Can we dance all night?"

 

"As long as you can keep up," James teased with a chuckle.

 

"I've been dancing a couple of times, my friend Eve would insist for my birthday," Quentin smiled.

 

"No, with dancing all night, I mean," James kissed his and poured water on his shoulders to clean the traces of mud away.

"Ah well, I can do my best. I might need to resort to coffee though," Quentin spit out a piece of leaf.

"Coffee it is." James laughed. "All right, tip your head back so I can wash your hair."

Quentin did so, obediently, before coming up with a new idea, which left him with a mouth full of muddy soap water.

 

"Rio for carn-"

 

"Slow down!" James laughed. "Rinse your mouth first." He stood to fetch Quentin a clean cup of water from the sink.

"Can we go to carnival next year in Rio?" Quentin babbled. "And Venice, I want to see Venice. Both of them."

James slowed down at that before he nodded. "Sure," he smiled.

"I can't... I can't believe I finally get to do these things with you," Quentin smiled.

"We'll enjoy it together." James smiled. "Come. Stand up and I'll drain the water and you can bathe in a clean tub at least." He chuckled, wrinkling his nose at the muddy bath water.

"I did rather muck it up, didn't I?" Quentin smiled. "Oh, we should go somewhere where we can go swimming as well."

"I'm sure we can find decent beaches with where we are planning on going, as long as the weather is warm." James wrapped a towel around Quentin as they waited for the tub to drain and fill once more. "Or we can go to the tropics... Your pale skin will bake their though." The man chuckled.

"Hence the super powered sun cream, or else I turn into a boiled lobster," Quentin laughed. "I'll wear a t shirt and shorts."

"We can have a nice tour around Asia once the time comes," James suggested. "Really, anywhere you're willing to explore, I can and will take you there."

"That sounds wonderful," Quentin sighed.

 

James winked and removed the towel, tossing it into the basket, then helped Quentin ease down into the fresh, clean water.

 

"Can we... can we go to Skyfall first?" Quentin asked. "I want to see if its like I remember."

"Of course," James said. "I want to return there with you finally by my side, too."

 

"Do you think its changed?" Quentin asked. "I mean, I'm sure it has. I only remember it from centuries ago. But I can't wait to be there again with you."

"I didn't buy back the old house though," James nuzzled Quentin. "I bought the vast moors next to the lake and nearer to our forest and built the lodge there... As we dreamt off all those years ago... albeit with some modifications." He smiled.

"Oh... that sounds amazing," Quentin said softly. "Can we bring the old sketch book, and a camera?"

"You are asking your journalist of a partner if it's okay to bring a camera along," James teased. "Of course... Both of them and whatever you want to bring."

 

"Wow... we'll really be there... after all this time," Quentin whispered reverently. "The lodge is near our woods, you said?"

 

James nodded in agreement. "Just within sight. We can walk there in just... five minutes. Ten, if we take our time." Unlike before when they had to rush to make the most of the precious hours they got to spend together, and even then, the journey still took them at least half an hour to make it.

"I wonder if there's still a stag..." Quentin thought out loud. "I wonder if the daisies still grow in the wood."

"I don't know..." James sighed. "Let's hope they're still there."

"Even of they were just a memory, they certainly were there last night on our side," Quentin snuggles against him.

James nodded, holding Quentin close and washing the hot water up along his body, and reached for the body soap. "I'll be more worried about the accumulated cobwebs and mothballs really," he chuckled.

"Well there is that," Quentin chuckled. "When was the last time you visited?"

"I never came back after the orphanage took me away," James said softly.

"Oh..." Quentin squeezed his hand. "If you don't want to go back, I understand."

James shook his head. "I have you by my side now... so I think it's due time that I come back there with you."

"I... Can we start there? Just the two of us?" Quentin asked softly.

James nodded. "Yes." He pressed a kiss to his love's lips. "I have no other intention."

"How long of a drive is it?" Quentin asked. "We can stop overnight at an inn, be there tomorrow I think."

"Eight hours from here, I think," James nodded. "But we'll have to go back to London to get my car, or the rental will have me on the wanted list for car theft, and it won't even be worth it for that piece of junk." He chuckled.

"So a two day trip," Quentin smiled. "You can meet Eve while we're in London."

"Gladly." James nodded. He wanted to meet the women who had befriended his love when he had no one.

"She's a bit..." Quentin waved his hand and chuckled. "Mother hennish, I suppose? But she took really good care of me after the accident, told me I should be brave enough to come here and see it through.  And I'm so glad I did."

"I have her to thank then," James smiled. "Any suggestions on a proper gift?"

"She's a shoes and purse sort... I've never been able to keep track," Quentin admitted as he climbed out of the tub.

"A stiletto type of woman, I'm guessing?" James wrapped Quentin in a fresh towel.

"Of course... Mahalo... Manali... Something blanks...? I usually just get her a gift card," Quentin admitted.

James nodded. "She may appreciate a pair of Louboutin." He shrugged. "But you're right. Best to just give her a card."

"As long as they're fancy and expensive... And rare... Although I have no idea her size," Quentin pulled on a jumper.

"We'll know when we finally meet her." James chuckled, liking the way how Quentin's hair was sticking out everywhere.

"We can grab some clothes in London, and Olivia can pack us a lunch for the road," Quentin offered.

"I don't think we even need to ask about that. She'll surely make us bring the food anyway." James smiled.

"Yes, she seems intent on stuffing you," Quentin grinned. "And I hope there's more pie."

"You, more like." James grinned. "I think the leftovers are still there?" He paused. "If Alec hasn't wolfed it down yet, that is."

"Or Karen... she seems most intent on desserts," he chuckled. "She's beautiful, James. We're awfully lucky they didn't disappear when Angela died. I was halfway afraid of that."

"I'm glad, too..." he sighed. "I still can't believe she would just... wait that long only to see her brother again. I'm not even really her brother."

"You were... As much as we're still Elliot and Jamie," Quentin shrugged. "I can't tell you, seeing Ian... I'm so thrilled. But so sad he didn't have a full life and move on."

He sighed. "True... what happened to all of them was sad." 

"We weren't exempt," Quentin pointed out.

"Yes. But I think we're both aware of that fact." He pressed a kiss to Quentin's lips.

"True..." Quentin nuzzled against his neck. "Let's go. I'm so excited."

James led him out of the room and smiled. "I'll speak to Alec after we get something to eat, then we'll go."

Quentin nodded in agreement. They passed the library and Karen waved from where she was sitting reading with Ian.

James grinned and waved back, smiling when she jumped down and ran out to hug his legs. "Are you two feeling better?"

 

He ruffled her silky hair. "Better than ever," he chuckled. 

"You look different," Karen said thoughtfully. "More like I remember you."

"You mean a bit younger?" James teased her softly. 

"Yes, not so much crinkles on your face," she decided. 

"Is she low-key telling me I'm old?" James asked Quentin with a laugh before leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "I'm glad you think so, though." He paused.

 

He hadn't noticed it before, but...

 

"You're...warm," he told her, a frown on his forehead.

"No, I'm cold," she argued. "Olivia said to put on a sweater, and I couldn't find one."

 

"James, she's warm!" Quentin touched her. "Oh my god..."

James stared at Karen, gathering her into his arms. She was still cooler than the average human, and he couldn't feel her heart, but still... He looked up and stared at Quentin, bewildered.

"I don't know," Quentin shrugged. "Ian, come here?"

"Yes?" The young man wandered over, blinking curiously. "What's going on?"

"Let me feel your skin?" Quentin asked, hesitant to be wrong. "I... Karen feels different."

"Uh... Sure." It was a strange request, but nothing that discomforted him. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. "Would this be okay?" He indicated his exposed forearm. 

"Yes, that's fine..." Quentin touched his wrist. "You're warmer too. I didn't dare hope, but..."

Ian looked startled. "I don't have a heartbeat," he said quickly. 

"No, but you're both warmer," Quentin shook his head. "I've no idea what it means..."

"Maybe what was originally their life force has returned to them?" James suggested, rather confused himself. This was way out of his depths.

"But... Science?" Ian protested weakly. "Never mind."

"I'm a believer of science, too," James admitted. "But I'm not too sure after all of this anymore, although that doesn't mean I'm denouncing science."

"We... We grew up believing in science, in a time it wasn't popular," Ian shrugged. "I only find all this... Quite improbable."

"Well, technically, we have been talking to each other just fine despite living centuries apart, so..." James shrugged. He did, however, understand Ian's reluctance though. "I find a lot of this unbelievable myself."

"True," Ian shook his head. "It's just so incredible to me. I lived in an age where people contacted the dead through mediums... And yet here we are."

James couldn't agree more. "I lived all my life never really believing in any of this, and here we are." He smiled.

"Trust, I suppose I'd better stop asking how, and ask why," Ian agreed.

James looked at Quentin at this because he was clueless other than the suggestion he had just made.

"Well why would we come back, or stick around?" Ian saw his puzzled look. "If physics doesn't yet explain how maybe spirituality does."

"Maybe because you actually want to stay around?" James offered. "At least that's what all those supernatural films tend to say."

"Oh yes... Unfinished business," Ian grimaced. "Ugh. Get creative."

James shrugged. "Either that or profound attachments?"

"Well... That I always had to him," Ian said quietly. "He saved me from the orphanage, from them trying to whip me straight."

"And why did you stay, Karen?" James asked quietly.

 

She pouted a little before cupping his face in her small, delicate hands. "Because I missed you and wanted to wait for you, silly." 

Quentin smiled. "That might be the answer, they waited for the people they loved."

James hummed. "Then who is Olivia waiting for?" Surely, it couldn't be him. She only looked after him in a life, after all... or was there something more to it?

"Beats me," Olivia shrugged from the door. "Stop thinking so hard while my breakfast is getting cold."

James smiled sheepishly. "No wasting food then." 

 

Alec walked in then, all muddy wellies and a shotgun in his hands. "Morning," he blinked. "Well, aren't we all packed today. I just checked everything to make sure that... well, everything is where it should be." 

"Excellent," Quentin nodded. 

 

"And there she'll stay," Olivia nodded. "Even poured the bacon grease out there for good measure."

 

Alec laughed heartily as he dumped his wallies by the door. "That was one of the more satisfying bits right there."

"Breakfast then, and James and Quentin will be away for a bit, Ian, you, Karen, and Alec are stuck with me, if you have no other pans, Alec?" Olivia raised an eyebrow.

 

Alec blinked. "No other plans for now. I will stay if you want me to." 

"Might as well,  in case we need a gun while they're off," Olivia shrugged.

Alec chuckled at her directness, liking the attitude a lot, and Olivia's cooking tasted wonderful

 

James carried their bag to the car, shaking his head at the damage. "I'm sure they won't rent to me again, good thing we're getting my car."

Indeed, the rental owners weren't so happy. And they were whispering between one another, not so discreetly, that they had been right from the start.  _ He's not the type to return the car in one piece! What did I tell you?! _

 

James said nothing and only paid them the deposit, and the fee they would need to repair the damages. Though to be fair, it wasn't as bad as other ones he had caused. 

 

From there, they headed to the train station to catch a trip. "We just need to go to where I park my car first, and we'll use it to go to London from there." He smiled at Quentin. 

 

"I'm excited," Quentin grinned. "It's been ages since I had a road trip."

"I'm glad I can give that to you." James smiled. 

 

The train departed from the station not too long after that. The scenery past by them in a blur, the dreary climates blending into brighter greenery with hills and passing trees, and James just held on to Quentin's hand, watching him observe the passing scenery with a smile. 

 

"Can we listen to the radio in the car? Not much reception at the house and whenever I got on YouTube, I just played things I already knew," Quentin asked.

"Absolutely." James nodded and got to the carpark first, mapping it out in his head clearly enough and heading to his slot. "Whatever you want, love." He smiled. 

 

"Some good rock and roll," Quentin spun around, his arms outstretched. "My gods... We're free."

James saw that and chuckled, coming up to put his arms around Quentin's waist, lifted him gently, and spun him in a circle for the dramatic effect. 

 

"This is wonderful," Quentin hugged him. "We left the house, everyone is safe... We aren't in pain..."

 

"And we're on our way to living life happy... together." James nuzzled him, returning the tight hug.

  
"Who would have thought," Quentin smiled. "Oh my gods... We get to drive in this?" He stared at the Aston Martin. "Tell me we can park somewhere and have sex on the hood?"


	26. Chapter 26

James laughed softly. "We can park anywhere you want and have sex on the hood whenever you want," he growled into Quentin's ear.

 

"Excellent," Quentin smiled. "Come on! How fast does she go?"

James grinned. "Patient," he said. "I'll show you first-hand when we're on the motorway." 

 

They meandered through the small roads of the town first before heading up on the motorway. It was a secluded place, so not many cars were there, and James was already picking up the speed. He knew from experience that no police was around this part to catch them. 

 

Quentin enjoyed every second of it, the wind in his hair, James's hand tucked into his when he wasn't shifting gears...

James liked it, the way Quentin looked so free like nothing could hold them down anymore, and he never slowed down until they absolutely had to.

"Gods... you'll have to teach me to drive her... I mean if that's okay?" Quentin asked shyly. "This is wonderful. I don't want the drive to end."

"I'll teach you." James smiled. "We have quite a way from London to Skyfall, and there's plenty of chance."

"I've only driven an automatic before," Quentin admitted. "Eve let me putter around the countryside in hers when we went to the Lake District one year."

James nodded. "Well, I've used both, but old habits die hard, and I find myself sticking to manual. They say it's more of a hassle." 

 

"But the sounds... the vibration..." Quentin grinned. "You're have a machine that sounds like sex."

"It's one of the many things that I love about it, darling," James purred with a grin himself. 

 

"Quite a good bonus feature," Quentin smiled as he turned up the radio and leaned his head against James's arm. "I am looking forward to this."

 

James turned to press a kiss to his curls and smiled. "Me, too. I'm glad we got to do this after all."

 

Quentin nodded, and the miles flew away beneath the tires. 

 

"So... tell me about the flat where you live in London, are there things we need to pick up from your flat, clothes, books...?"

 

"Just a few things," James shrugged. "I don't really use that place much for anything other than a stop between assignments."

 

"Well, bring your important things... let's choose a place for us... somewhere we can call home in London," Quentin suggested. "There will always be the Slope House, and Skyfall... but I think a place in the city to stay that's a bit more personal than a hotel would be nice as well."

 

"I agree." James nodded. "We'll choose it together like we do any other place."

 

"I wonder..." Quentin scrolled through his phone and pulled up a real estate site. "Let me see if I can schedule us some tours after we go to Skyfall, some place with adequate room for Ian, Karen, Olivia, and Alec. I wonder if they can travel this far from Slope House?"

 

"If we can get them to travel to Skyfall using the main magic vein, then maybe it'll work if we choose a place close to a vein as well?" James suggested.

"I'm sure there must be one or two in the greater London area," Quentin agreed. "Good idea."

"We can start our search there then. Although I don't know if we've brought the map along with us..." He frowned a little.

"In my bag... I wanted to trace the journey via motorway, and see how it corresponds to the ley lines," Quentin reached into the back seat. “So far we've only detoured for rock formations." 

"It's all correct then?" James blinked. "That's good."

"Some of the motorways trace the old Roman roads... And I'm thinking those were laid along the ley lines," Quentin consulted the book.

 

"Perhaps they believe building roads along the lines would reinforce them and make them stronger," James murmured to himself.

"Theoretically on a full moon, and a solstice, it would also shorten the distance," Quentin did some more translation.

 

That was broaching on magic, and James understood not a thing about it, so he left Quentin to his research and continued to drive until they were nearly back to his flat. "Almost there," he told Quentin, so he could gather everything up.

"Right," Quentin gathered up his book and tablet, and repacked them in his bag.

 

James helped him once they came to a stop in a carpark, and got out, locking the car. "Come on." He pulled Quentin close to him as they headed upstairs. 

 

"Wow... You might as well have a storage space," Quentin looked around the flat. "There's no personality."

James shrugged. "I'm not here often," he said, as though it should explain everything. "Give me a bit, and I'll gather my things."

"Rented furnished, utilities included... I'm guessing?" Quentin looked around.

And James laughed. "Pretty much. I got kicked out of my old place after I was gone for six months working on a case, and this really was a good deal at the time." 

 

Quentin nodded. "Clearly not your books. These are all romance and geared towards rather dim witted women."

James made a face. "Only the ones in the boxes are mine." He was rummaging for the tapes and found it in a dusty drawer. 

 

"Why don't we bring your books?" Quentin suggested. "Unless there's a reason you want to come back here."

 

"I'm packing them up now." James grinned, fetching all the books that he had taken out to read for references and such and quickly arranging them into where they should be. "It'll be quick. Just sit down at the sofa." 

 

"Alright," Quentin fished his book on ley lines out of his bag, and was quickly engrossed.

 

James began working on packing his life up quickly, occasionally watching Quentin out of his eyes and smiling at the entirely concentrated look on his face as he read through the book. 

 

And half an hour later, he was done. With four boxes of books and one for clothes. "Wait here while I load these up," he told Quentin and began bringing the boxes down to his car. 

 

Quentin stretched and stood, packing his book away and peering out the window at James. He smiled as he watched him take the stats back up two at a time, and met him at the door for a breathless kiss.

James hummed. "I missed you," he said with a smile.

 

"I missed you too," Quentin laughed. "I was just thinking the same thing."

James winked, shouldering the box of clothes, which weren't too heavy, and took Quentin's hand. "Let's go."

"Yes," Quentin agreed. 

Before they headed off, James stopped to refill the tank first. He mapped out mentally which parts he could safely use to teach Quentin how to drive the Aston first, then let him try out on the motorway.

 

Until they were away from London first.

 

By the afternoon, they had reached a less densely populated area, and James pulled to a stop in a carpark and turned to smile at Quentin. "Switch places with me." 

"Are you sure? What if I burn out the clutch?" Quentin fretted now that he actually had the possibility of driving.

"Oh hush. I'm right here, and you'll do just fine." He smiled, kissing him a bit to calm his nerves. 

 

Quentin nodded. It was a bit of a rocky start, but once he figured out the coordination, the car purred and he laughed with delight.

 

James grinned, feeling easier now, but still alert, watching the streets carefully to make sure no arseholes would scare Quentin with their piss-poor driving skills. "Well done." 

 

Quentin drove until the next way station when they stopped for tea. "This is fun," he smiled. "How much further?" 

 

James looked thoughtful for a bit, then said, "Probably five or six more hours. Four, if I try." He grinned. "Or we can stop for a bit of sleep, then start early and be there mid morning?" 

 

"Hmmm... I really want to be there," Quentin laughed sheepishly. "How about we get there, and sleep in the car until the sun comes up?"

 

James nodded. "We can stop at the village nearby and ask for accommodation for a night. It shouldn't be anything more than 15, 20 minutes away from Skyfall. How about that?" 

 

"I... I want to watch the sun come up... See if it's how I dreamed it, if that's alright?" Quentin asked.

 

James nodded. "I'll just have to wake you up before then." He pressed a kiss between Quentin's brows.

 

"Okay," Quentin smiled happily and open his book of ley lines to continue reading while James drove.

 

It took them near midnight to arrive to that small village near Skyfall. James felt a soft pang of melancholy that he had never felt before—either it was a residual from another time and life he could not remember, or it was just his mind reconciling with the fact that he actually was returning to this place after decades spent away from it. 

 

They found a room in the local inn. The owner seemed pleased enough for a couple of souls to have ventured here and rent her room, despite the late hours, and James promptly led Quentin into where they'd be staying for the night once everything was settled and he had got the door key.

 

Quentin nestled on James's shoulder in the soft bed, still dressed. "It feels right, being so close," he said softly.

 

James nodded, a hand on Quentin's cheek. "It feels better now with you here... like there's no more gaping void of something missing in my chest." 

 

"Yes..." Quentin agreed sleepily. 

 

"Sleep," James kissed his forehead. "I'll wake you up in time for us to watch the sunrise." 

 

"Love you," Quentin mumbled, already dreaming.

 

_ The meadow was green, all the flowers just blooming. Jamie was standing there, holding out a handful of fresh grass to a new baby deer, brown with a tawny undercoat. _

 

_ It was a beautiful thing, dark eyes big and wide, still wary of its new surrounding, but curious and adventurous at the same time, too, and if anything Jamie could feel it in the glint of those eyes. He grinned when the fawn sniffed his hand and slowly tried the grass it held.  _

 

_ He turned and smiled broadly at Elliott, beckoning him to come over.  _

 

_ "Hello, darling," Elliot held out a hand to the fawn. It's nose was soft and warm, and the mother nudged it forward. The stag stood on the hillside watching, close enough to hear. _

 

_ "It's good to see you," Elliot said softly. "Thank you, for helping us finally find our way home?" _

 

_ Blinking slowly, the stag's ears moved as if to listen, before inclining its head once. It was still majestic as ever, proud and strong, silvery hair glittering under the soft light casting from the sky, ruffling just slightly in the brush of wind.  _

 

_ It seemed Jamie had found just the right statue to represent Skyfall.  _

 

_ "He's... Still here somewhere," Eliott murmured as the fawn went back to its mother, taking Jamie's hand. _

 

_ "I'm glad so, too," Jamie sighed, squeezing Elliott's hand. "I suppose he really is the guardian of this land. And guardian tends to stay for some time." _

 

_ "Guardians don't leave," Elliot agreed. "They are still there, even when the legends get forgotten." _

 

_ "Of course," Jamie replied with a sigh, watching everything around them. "Do we live here now?" he asked softly.  _

 

_ "I think... There's supposed to be a house?" Elliot said. _

 

_ Jamie laughed heartily. "Yes. But... you do want to settle here with me, yeah? We can travel to anywhere you want, but this will be our permanent home."  _

 

_ "Yes, oh gods, yes," Elliot nodded. "I love it. It's just like the drawings." _

 

_ "I tried to make it resemble what we talked about as much as I could." Jamie took Elliott's hand and laced their fingers together. "I'm glad you like it." _

 

_ "It's perfect." _

 

James's watch alarm went off with a chime, intruding into Quentin's dream.

 

James opened his eyes, having always been a light sleeper, and looked at the alarm. It was ten minutes to five. They had just enough time to gather their things. 

 

Quentin was still sleeping though, and he almost didn't have the heart to wake him, but knowing that it would disappoint his love more not to be able to watch the sunrise just because of spending a few more minutes to sleep, he sighed and leant in to press a kiss to his forehead. "Time to wake up, sleeping beauty," he smiled. 

 

"It's beautiful," Quentin murmured. "Just like the drawings."

 

"What is?" James smiled, brushing Quentin's fringe from his eyes. 

 

"Skyfall... The deer," Quentin opened his eyes. 

 

"Did you have another clairvoyant dream, love?" James chuckled softly, stroking Quentin's cheek.

 

"Oh... I suppose so?" Quentin reached for his glasses. "There was a silver fawn."

 

"Offspring of our guardian?" James smiled, helping him sit up. "How are you feeling?"

 

"Still a bit sleepy, but good..." Quentin yawned. "He's still there, on the hillside. He's a statue now, but the mother and fawn ate from our fingers."

 

James paused. "He's  _ the _ statue?" he blinked. "Damn... but I suppose I should've expected that." He picked up Quentin's coat and wrapped it around him. "But it's a good sign, yes? The fawn and its mother eating from our fingers?" 

 

"I think so?" Quentin stood and put on his shoes. "It seemed to be. Let's hurry," he grinned and held out his hand for James.

 

James had already got their bags in his hold, and nodded, taking Quentin's offered hand. "I'll drive," he said. "You can enjoy the scenery." 

 

The sky was already a dusk of pink, signalling the sun's arrival on the horizon. They quickly returned the room, got into the car, and drove off. From then on, the small town faded quickly out of sight, leaving behind only the rich green of trees and the swelling hills on the sides of the beaten path. 

 

"Wow... It's like there isn't even a town," Quentin was curled up in a cardigan, looking out.

 

James could only smile in agreement. Truly, this was quite a remote place, and that would be the nearest town for kilometers to come.

 

It took a while, but eventually, the statue of the stag was before them, and there she was, Skyfall, still grey as he had remembered, magnificent and all by herself in the middle of the moors, still covered in fog that spilt from the lake just behind the lodge.

 

"Ooh..." Quentin breathed. "It really does look like this," he was out of the car as soon as James came to a stop, gone to rub a hand over the stag statue's nose.

 

James smiled, watching Quentin. "Do you like it?" One of his previous lives must have commissioned it to look just like the stag they had seen all those lives ago.

 

"I LOVE it, it's perfect," Quentin jogged along up the path to the house. "Can we go inside?"

James nodded as he fished into the pocket where he had placed the key that he had expressly looked for while going through his things back at the small flat in London, and prayed that dear old Kincade, if he were still alive, hadn't changed the lock. 

 

And indeed, he hadn't. James was relieved as he pushed the door in and let Quentin go inside. 

 

"Oh..." Quentin looked around in wonder. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling would easily illuminate the entry hall and living room, and the furniture was covered with sheets. "It's a proper house... It isn't empty," he grinned at James in delight.

James smiled. "Well... I did ask them to leave the furniture be." He pressed a kiss to Quentin's lips. "Do you want me to pull the sheets off so you can see?"

"Yes! Can I close my eyes?" Quentin asked, excited. "No, no, I should help you."

James laughed. "You can sit down and relax, love. It's just pulling off some sheets. Nothing too taxing." He let Quentin  to a stool after he had gotten the cover sheet off of it and made sure not too much dust was on there. He was pleased to note that, no, not much accumulated dust was there at all.

Quentin sat and covered his eyes with his hands, jiggling his legs in his excitement.

James chuckled and quickly began to pull all the covers off as quickly as he could, and waited just long enough until the dust had settled before going over to Quentin. "Open your eyes, love." 

 

Quentin blinked at him before his eyes came into focus. He stood and turned in a slow circle, eyes wide. "Oh my god... It's amazing."

 

"You think so?" James was behind Quentin, hands on his hips, enjoying the view from over his shoulder. Everything felt foreign but familiar at the same time, like an old memory that was finally coming into focus. 

 

"Look at the table..." Quentin sighed and ran his hand over the wood. "There's room for big dinners, and family parties."

 

"There's enough room for a small banquet if you so choose it," James said with a smile as he turned them just so Quentin could see into the prodigious kitchen just across the hall.

 

"Wow... I don't know if I cook anything grand enough to need this," Quentin eyed the kitchen. "But wow... Pies and turkey and venison... And..."

"Roasts and casseroles and Yorkshire pudding," James added, punctuating each dish with a kiss along Quentin's neck. "And anything else that you want. Anything at all." 

 

Quentin grinned. "A giant fir tree for Yule... And all our friends."

"Even with all our friends, they wouldn't even begin to cover all the seats," James laughed, before releasing Quentin and spinning around. 

 

The shotgun cocked. "Sorry to disturb your merry imagi—..." Kincade paused, lowering the gun slowly with a frown on his face. "James Bond," he said finally, with an air of disbelief. "Well, I didn't think I'd be seeing you around here again." 

 

"Kincade," James inclined his head as a form of greeting. "I didn't expect that you'd still be alive either," he replied. "If you'd please lower your gun entirely, I'd like to introduce to you my partner, Quentin. Quentin, this is Skyfall's gamekeeper. He's been keeping this place inhabitable while I was gone."

 

Quentin stared at the man.

 

"You... You look familiar, Sir. It's nice to meet you," he stuck out a hand politely.

 

Kincade shot Quentin a puzzled look, but accepted the handshake anyway. "Nice to meet you, too. We have met before, though?" he frowned, skeptical of this.

 

"Maybe... Not," Quentin said. "I sketch a lot, maybe I sketched someone who looked like you."

 

Kincade blinked. But he supposed he had heard of cases where random people just resembled one another without being related. He turned to James instead. "What are you doing here for after so long?" 

 

"Coming back to what is originally mine, Kincade," James smiled easily, even as the older man scoffed. 

 

"I haven't seen your face in years, you jumped-up little shit. And now you come back and say that?" He shook his head. "Kids these days." 

 

"When was the last time you were back, when they died?" Quentin asked softly, taking his hand.

 

James turned to Quentin a little. "Around then," he nodded. "A couple days later to be exact. The social workers came and took me away." He shrugged. 

 

"Yes, not like they would let the gamekeeper raise someone with a family crest," Kincaid said ruefully.

 

"It was unlikely that they would allow someone who had no blood relation to an orphan whatsoever to raise him," James replied quietly. He knew Kincade had tried to reason with the social workers and filed paperwork, but alas, James was already in the system by then. He reached out and clasped a hand on the man's shoulder. "It's good to see you again, Kincade."

 

"The missus will want to see you," Kincaid gave him a suspiciously watery smile.

 

James smiled, and leant in to hug him briefly, doing the deed that Kincade couldn't bring himself to do right then, not with a shotgun in his hand and that ball of subsiding anger at James for neglecting to even write or call in more than two decades already. "When will it be a convenient time?" he asked, letting the man go.

"I'm sure she'll want to feed you... Dinner?" He said. "Just a warning though, she'll cry buckets."

 

James smiled. "You'll have to tell me how to handle it then." 

 

"Just let her cry it out," Kincaid advised. "I'll go let her know to expect you two."

 

James nodded. "Thank you. We'll be there around six." 

 

"Good choice, lad," Kincaid smiled. "It will be good to have you around again. And welcome to Skyfall, Quentin. She's been empty far too long."

 

James smiled, a hand on the small of Quentin's back. Kincade noticed the motion and looked at it for a second or two but said nothing else. "We're planning on staying here for a long time, Kincade," James smiled. 

 

"Really?" Kincaid smiled. "We'll have to take the boy out hunting with us."

 

"As long as it's not deer," Quentin said.

 

"Oh, there aren't many deer around here in these woods now," Kincade reassured them. "Besides. I don't think we've ever been too keen on hunting deer either. Just rabbits, and small games." 

 

James nodded. "As long as you're comfortable with it," he told Quentin. 

 

"Sure," Quentin shrugged. "Although I do have awful eye sight. I may just tag along and carry lunch."

 

James chuckled and Kincade laughed. "Well," the older man said, patting James's shoulder. "I'll leave you two to it then. We'll see you at six." 

 

"Can we see the rest of the rooms?" Quentin asked softly. "And I want to go for a walk in the woods."

 

James nodded, pulled Quentin close, and began to show him all of the rooms. From the parlour, to the study with all its books, the full kitchen, the gun room, the dining room, and the bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs, the window that looked out to the expanse of the moors and mountains outside, green and luscious and in the height of spring broaching summer. 

 

"Wow," Quentin went from window to window, staring at the view. "This is more beautiful than I remember."

 

"Maybe because there's nothing left to worry us anymore," James smiled, looking out himself. "Let's take that walk you want and look around then?" 

 

"That's true... I don't think I've ever been able to not worry before," Quentin took his hand and they headed outside.

 

James brought their laced hands up to his lips. "We can both start trying that from now on." 

 

"It will take a bit of work," Quentin admitted. 

 

Their walk in the forest did yield a doe and fawn, and Quentin sighed and pulled James closer. 

 

"Its... our dream. My dream," he said softly.

 

James watched the doe taking care of its young fawn, and smiled. "Do you want to see if we can feed it a bit of grass?" 

 

"No... Wait-" Quentin turned to him. "Yes. Let's try."

 

James blinked and chuckled quietly. "Why the hesitation?" 

 

"I... Maybe they aren't as brave in real life as in dreams? I don't want to scare them away," Quentin said softly. "I want them to always have a safe place here."

 

"Well, then we can just watch them for a while and be on our way," James said. "If they want to, they can approach us." 

 

The doe edged cautiously closer to eat, the fawn hiding close behind her. Quentin finally put out his hand and she nuzzled it, her nose soft as velvet.

 

James smiled, gathering fresh grass in his hand and offering it to the young fawn, smiling as it sniffed experimentally before starting to surreptitiously eat.

"He's quite lovely, you have a beautiful baby," Quentin whispered to the doe. The stag statue sat on the moor, keeping guard over them all, as the sun set over the Glen.


End file.
